


New Year, New Beginnings

by Tigereye77



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2018-10-27 13:13:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10809726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigereye77/pseuds/Tigereye77
Summary: A modern AU that tries to adhere to the original where it can, but focuses primarily on Jon reuniting with the Starks.  Mutli-part story.





	1. Chapter 1

It was Thanksgiving morning which was why Sansa did not see the news first. Though she rose at her usual time, well before Bran and Arya were awake, she was busy prepping the turkey for the oven and the other dishes for their Thanksgiving dinner later that day. She was in the midst of making pie crust as Bran and Arya were eating their breakfast when she heard her sister exclaim, “Seven Hells! Jon Snow!”

Jon Snow, a name Sansa had not heard or thought about in years. She looked up from where she was cutting cold butter into flour by hand, her forehead wrinkled. “Jon? What about him?”

Arya held up her phone. “Jon! He’s in town!”

Sansa moved closer to Arya’s phone and squinted at the screen. She saw the familiar brooding face she had grown up with staring back at her, but the roundness of youth was gone. In its place was a lean face with a faint scar running over one eye. The unruly mop of black hair was tamed somewhat by being pulled back. A beard covered the lower half of his face, and he was older, more weathered, but the dark eyes and solemn visage was unmistakable. It was indeed Jon Snow, a man who had not been in touch with the Starks in years.

Arya snatched her phone back, clearly excited by the news. “It says he’s going to be taking a bigger role in Targaryen Industries and he’ll be learning the ropes from Rhaegar and Daenerys at their HQ, here, in Kings Landing! Sansa, he’ll be just around the corner from you!”

“We need to invite him over to dinner!” Bran chimed in excitedly.

Sansa made a noncommittal noise in her throat and turned back to her pie crust. She had no objection to Jon coming over to dinner, or Arya and Bran renewing their acquaintance with him, but she was never close to him and she had far more pressing matters than trying to reestablish a childhood acquaintance, especially one who they had not heard from in years. 

For the last five years, keeping what little was left of her family together consumed Sansa’s very existence. At eighteen, just as she was about to finish her first year in college, her entire world came crashing down on her when a drunk driver plowed into the family minivan that was taking her parents and three brothers to Arya’s soccer game. She’ll never forget the call she received from the Wintertown police informing her that her father and brothers Robb and Rickon had been killed on impact. Her mother held on until Sansa could make it back home to only say good bye. Bran had been in a coma for a week before he woke and they realized he likely would never walk again. Just like that, everything Sansa knew had been taken away from her and she had to pick up the pieces.

The vultures had begun to circle almost immediately, the prime one being Petyr Baelish. Ned hadn’t really liked the man, but Catelyn had insisted he was a good lawyer. He wasn’t the executor of Ned’s estate, Catelyn’s Uncle Brynden Tully was, but Baelish was Catelyn’s executor. Since Ned had predeceased his wife, and she was named his primary heir with separate trusts set up for each child, everything else, including the Winterfell estate, the vast majority of holdings and assets, had passed to Catelyn’s estate and into Baelish’s hands. Brynden had raged so violently against this, knowing how little Baelish could be trusted, that it had brought on a stroke in the old man and he had died two weeks after his beloved niece. For a time, it felt like all Sansa was doing was wearing her black dress and attending funerals.

The remaining Stark children each had a separate trust, but they could not touch it until they had reached the age of twenty-five. Sansa was only eighteen so they were reliant on the executor of their parents’ estate for everything. And suddenly, the prosperous Stark family found itself destitute.

Ned had made some bad business investments, Baelish had explained in his oily, smooth voice and thus many assets had to be sold off to settle these debts. Yes, there was enough to cover Bran’s medical costs, thank goodness, but little else was left. Winterfell had to be sold off, as were most other things, to cover these other debts. The living Stark children were essentially destitute until they reached the age of twenty-five. Ned, never thinking his children would need money before they reached that age, made sure no money could be released from their trust funds.

“Of course,” Petyr had said in his smooth voice, his eyes glittering covetously as he looked Sansa up and down, “We cannot have the children of Ned and Catelyn Stark, one of the oldest and most respected families in all of Westeros, destitute. I’ll be happy to have you stay with me, my dear. Arya can be sent to bordering school and Bran to that special institute to help him recover.”

They were standing in her father’s study in Winterfell as Baelish laid out how much sense it made for Sansa to live with him and the wonderful opportunities for her siblings, all paid for by him and his generosity, all the while inching closer and closer to the girl until he was almost pressed up against her, practically pinning her to her father’s desk. Sansa had led a sheltered and privileged life. Loved and protected so some would say she was naïve and innocent, but the last few weeks had aged her not in years, but in her soul. She knew what was behind Baelish’s looks and it made her physically ill. She would take nothing from this man. He was embedded in her life and she couldn’t cut him off completely as he controlled what was left of their parents’ estate, but she didn’t need him.

“You will not be separating me from my brother and my sister,” Sansa said in a determined voice, her chin held high as she lightly pushed him back and stepped around the desk to put it between them.

“Sansa, Sansa,” Petyr cooed, undeterred by her rebuff. “I’m being extremely generous here. Be a sensible girl.”

She glared at this man, this little, slimy man who thought he could break apart her family even more than it already had been. “My father once said that the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. We will not be separated.”

“And what do you expect to live on? You have no money, no home, Sansa.” Baelish smirked at her, triumphant.

Sansa gave him a thin smile. “We’re moving to Kings Landing. You weren’t there for the reading of my Uncle Brynden’s will. He may not have had much money, but what little he had, he left to me. There’s a small house in Kings Landing in my name as well. It’s enough to see us through for a time until I get a job.”

That bastard Baelish had the gall to laugh. “A job? You? My child, you’re still young. What skills do you have?”

“I’m eighteen. I can cook and sew.” Sansa had been studying fashion design in school. Those weren’t particularly marketable skills, but she would wash dishes and scrub floors before she be beholden to this man.

“And what job can you get to earn enough for the three of you to live on? With Brandon’s continued medical needs? Be realistic Sansa.”

Her resolve hardened in the face of his mockery. She was always described as pretty as a china doll, something fragile and delicate, but she could almost feel herself harden, changing, from porcelain to ivory to steel.

“I will find something and I will keep my family together. You need not concern yourself with any of that. Good day, Mr. Baelish.”

At eighteen, Sansa found herself taking care of her sixteen year old sister and her eleven year old brother with no job and little money in the bank. But she was a Stark and they would get through this.

Arya hadn’t taken the move to Kings Landing well, but faced with no other alternatives, had little choice. She became more amendable to the move when she realized that Bran would receive better care and help in his recovery in Kings Landing. She adapted to the move better than anyone thought, making friends in school with a small group of outcasts who were essentially good kids. However, when she graduated, she refused to go to college.

“I don’t have the grades for it, Sansa and we don’t have the money.”

“I’ll find-,” Sansa began.

“How? You’re already working yourself to the bone at the bakery and doing dressmaking when you’re not there and we’re just getting by. You know, I’m not meant for college, but Bran is. If I get a job now, I can help out and together, we can put Bran through school.”

“You’re thinking of working at Sandor’s garage?” Arya’s friend Gendry had gotten her a part-time job there during high school and her sister had loved it. Sansa couldn’t say too much against it as her Arya did seem to have an uncanny skill with cars. She managed to keep both their old cars running, Sansa’s old, second hand jeep and Arya’s own rusty truck that could move much faster than anyone thought.

College was no longer an option for Sansa and she dropped out. She reached out to a sorority sister who had just graduated, Margery Tyrell, for advice. Margery, blessed with a pretty face that made everyone underestimate the very good brain beneath it, promptly invited Sansa to work alongside her in the business venture she was beginning.

“Highgarden Bakery?” Sansa asked dubiously.

“Yes! Listen with my business savvy and your baking abilities, we’ll be a hit. Besides, it won’t hurt having two gorgeous women working there, especially with the location I have in mind.”

“Where’s that?”

“Flea Bottom.”

“Flea Bottom! Who’s going to buy expensive pastries there?”

“Oh my sweet,” Margery laughed. “You haven’t been keeping up with the financial news and that’s understandable. Flea Bottom for the past year has been undergoing an urban renewal revolution. It’s becoming the spot for the young and the hip and more importantly Targaryen Industries six months ago bought that big empty building on Birch and will be making it their new corporate headquarters which will house about 2,000 employees. The Highgarden Bakery will be located on Willow, which is this lovely cobblestone street filled with adorable shops and no other bakery or restaurant within a five block radius.”

“You’ve thought this through.”

“Oh, I have, except I need a good baker and everything you made at the sorority house convinces me you are the perfect person for the job.”

“Margery, I’ve never baked anything for a shop before. What if people don’t like what I’m making?”

“Are you joking? Do you think anyone can be pickier than a bunch of over-privileged, rich snobby sorority girls?” Margery scoffed. “How quickly did everything you make disappear? Things were barely out of the oven before those vultures swooped in. Trust me, love, whatever you make will sell.”

It had been hard work, with Sansa up at 4 am so she could be at the bakery by 5 am to begin that day’s baking so they could open at 7 am to serve the early breakfast crowd. There was a bit of trial and error in the beginning, but with Sansa’s genius in the kitchen and Margery’s business savvy, Highgarden Café became one of the best known establishments in all of Kings Landing. 

Sansa also designed the employee uniforms for the café and to save money, made as much of her and her siblings clothing as she could, though Arya was quite happy to shop at the Military Surplus store. Much of Sansa’s own clothes were made over dresses of her mother’s, lovely, designer clothing that Sansa could not part with but also did not fit the majority of. So she had ripped seams apart and using the material, redesigned and reassembled them into new things for herself. She became a bit of a walking advertisement for her work and would pick up a dress making commission here and there.

It is through this that she got them through the first two years with Arya contributing some funds with her part-time job at the garage. It was tight and hard, Bran’s recovery draining their funds quickly, but they made it without needing to accept or borrow a penny from anyone else. That was one thing Sansa was adamant about: they would take no money from another person, especially not a man, Petyr Baelish’s mocking voice ringing in hear ears and his lecherous looks burned in her mind. The price was too high. She wouldn’t even take money from Margery, who had plenty of her own and didn’t even really need the bakery, and had no ulterior motive with her offers. The Starks will do this on their own.

In their third year after the tragedy, things eased slightly. Bran required less medical care and Arya working full-time helped enormously. Margery had made Sansa the manager of the bakery, which meant a much bigger paycheck and more responsibilities. While Sansa did not have to go in early anymore to do the baking, she found habits hard to break and still rose early to make sure everything was in perfect order before they opened. She had also developed a small, but devoted clientele for her dress making work. Between her and Arya, they had even managed to set aside a small sum of money each month. In two more years, Sansa would be able to access her trust fund and they would have enough to send Bran to college.

Though those first two years were tough on Sansa, every time she was tired or felt like crying, she only had to look at Bran and any self-pity would disappear. When he had woken from his coma, her little brother had stoically accepted the news he would never walk again. Bran who always seemed to be running and was all gangly legs and elbows would be forever relegated to sitting in a wheelchair. But like he did everything, Bran became determined and focused on his recovery. He never complained and attacked each exercise and therapy with enthusiasm and a single-mindedness. He became adept in using his wheelchair and he developed good upper body strength. He also found something that interested him greatly: computers. Bran was a whiz at electronics and to Sansa and Arya’s surprise, earned a bit of his own money by fixing broken laptops and phones and tutoring fellow students. When he tried to turn his earnings over to his sisters to help with the household funds, they refused, saying there was enough and he should use that as his pocket money and not expect an allowance from them. He managed to keep himself supplied with most of his electronic needs.

The first years were lean, but the Stark children endured with no outside help. That was why Sansa had little interest in Jon Snow coming back into their lives. Jon had joined the military and when the accident happened was unable to get leave to attend the funerals, the Starks not being family members. 

When they moved to Kings Landing, they had left a forwarding address for any letters that might be sent to Winterfell, but nothing ever came from Jon. Arya and Bran were heartbroken by this, yet another thread to their past gone. Sansa had tried to comfort them, saying she was certain he had a good reason for not reaching out to them, but she was too preoccupied with their own survival to worry about what Jon Snow was doing.

Then, about a year ago, it was splashed all over the news that a military special ops team that had been on a three year mission to take down one of the most notorious terrorists groups in Westeros had finally succeeded. The White Walkers led by their leader who was known only by his alias of “The Night King” was taken out by a special team of some of the best military men in Westeros. Called the Night Watch, a name that was a play on their target’s alias, they were led by the young, but talented Captain Jon Snow. In a fantastic fire fight in the Gift, the White Walkers were defeated and the Night King personally dispatched by Captain Snow.

It hadn’t come without a price. Half of the Night Watch team was killed and Captain Snow was critically injured. He was airlifted immediately to a military hospital and miraculously saved. The story was news for months, especially with the photogenic and brave Jon Snow as the face of the mission. Then things took an even stranger turn. Reclusive billionaire Rhaegar Targaryen, head of Targaryen Industries, seeing Jon’s photo and reading the details of his background that he got through his government connections, realized that Jon was his son by one Lyanna Snow. 

When Lyanna told Rhaegar she was pregnant, he was overjoyed, but she didn’t want to break up the man’s marriage so she had disappeared one night. Rhaegar had searched for her and his son for years to no avail. His own wife had died without having any children so aside from his younger sister, Daenerys, Rhaegar had no one. Until he read about the brave actions of Captain Snow.

How the reunion went, no one knows, but the media went wild for the story. Their national hero suddenly discovered to be the lost son of the wealthiest man in Westeros? From humble beginnings, the fatherless boy rose to become a military hero to heir to a fortune. The reporters couldn’t write a better story. It sounded like it came from a song.

Jon, however, was proving to be elusive, only being photographed every now and then. He didn’t go to many parties or major events unless they were required of him by the military and soon that obligation was over as he was discharged with the highest honors last year. He became involved in the Targaryen business, seen every now and then at those events, but always with a solemn look on his face, ducking out quickly to avoid too many questions from reporters. He was much different from the jovial, almost effervescent presence that Rhaegar or Daenerys had. 

Now, he was at Kings Landing at their HQ’s, less than a block away from Sansa’s bakery.

“Do you think he’ll come to dinner? Can we invite him, Sansa?” Bran asked excitedly.

Sansa was putting her pie dough to chill in the refrigerator, all thoughts of Jon Snow already gone from her mind as she mentally went down the list of what needed to be done before their guests arrived for Thanksgiving dinner. “Hmmm? Oh, yeah. I’m sure if we can get an invitation to Jon, he’ll come to dinner.”

“We don’t even have his cell number or email,” Arya sighed despondently. Then she brightened. “Sansa, you guys do the weekly catering for their executive staff meeting. Maybe you can ask him then.”

“Oh Arya, I never talk to the executives, I’m gone by the time they come into the room. I only deal with Mr. Targaryen’s assistant, or one of them.” She saw the disappointed looks on her siblings’ faces and smothered a sigh. “But I’ll ask a note can be sent to Jon,” she promised.

“It sure will be good to see Jon again,” Bran said wistfully.

“Yeah,” Arya whispered. “Like old times.”

Sansa paused at the sink, her back to her siblings as she fought a sudden lump her throat. Yes, like old times, when her parents, Robb and Rickon were alive. She shook herself from her sad thoughts and began to busily peel the carrots. Thanksgiving dinner wouldn’t get made by itself.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Thanksgiving dinner was uncomfortable. Jon was still trying to get used to his new found Targaryen family and the formality of their holiday dinner didn’t help matters. Nor did Ygritte’s presence. His father and aunt did not wholly approve of the woman from The Gift, but they strived to be polite. Ygritte however, seemed to revel in annoying the Targaryens as much as possible, deliberately slurping her soup, drinking too much wine, laughing too loudly.

Nothing about this new situation Jon found himself in was easy and his girlfriend wasn’t helping matters in any way.

As he recovered from his injuries after the mission against the White Walker terrorist group and their leader, the Night King, Jon wondered what he would do next with his life. He knew his time in the military was over. He was sick of fighting and his very near brush with death, he had coded twice in the helicopter as they rushed him to the nearest military medical facility, was the final straw. But what else did he know but fighting? He was good with his hands. Maybe he would go into construction. He wasn’t an idiot, having quite a good analytical mind, something that came in handy when planning tactical strategies. But what did he want to do? Here he was only 28 years old, sporting a mess of scars on his chest, newly promoted to Captain, a national hero, and he didn’t know what he wanted to be when he grew up.

The one thing uppermost in his mind was finding the remaining Starks. He had never been so frustrated by the fact that he hadn’t been able to be with Sansa, Arya and Bran when they needed him the most, nor was he allowed to say his final goodbyes to the man who had been like a father to him and a boy who was as close as any brother could be. He hadn’t even been able to visit their graves and pay his respects.

When the accident occurred, he had just been recruited for this special team to deal with the White Walkers. For three years that consumed his life as they trained and gathered intelligence to put a complete end to the group. It was how he had met Ygritte. In the last six months of their mission, his team had found themselves embedded in The Gift, blending in with the community. Ygritte was a local woman he had initially befriended as a cover, but soon their relationship grew and Jon had believed himself to be in love.

When the mission was over, he had sent for her to join him in Westeros and she had agreed. He thought they would settle down but then the next great disruption in his life came in the form of Rhaegar Targaryen claiming to be his father.

Initially, Jon had scoffed at the man’s claims, sure they were just the longings of a lonely man facing the latter half of his life without any family but his much younger sister, but then Rhaegar had started talking about Jon’s mother, Lyanna Snow, and told him things only someone who did truly know her could have known. The DNA test was the clincher and Jon found himself not only with a father and aunt, but a fortune that he was heir to.

How the fates had turned for the poor bastard with the single mother who held a variety of waitressing jobs to support her son and died when he was fifteen. If it hadn’t been for the Starks, Jon would have wound up just another child in the foster system or worse on the streets, but Ned and Catelyn swooped in and while they didn’t formally adopt him, fostered him so he never spent a second in the system or some stranger’s home.

That’s why it hurt so much that he couldn’t be there for the family when they needed him the most. How could the girls be handling this alone? Bran was still in the hospital and the girls where little more than children, still in school. No, Sansa would be in college by this point, but still, she couldn’t be more than eighteen. 

Jon took comfort in knowing that they had their Uncle Brynden looking out for him. The old man was gruff, but kind and he loved the Stark children. He doted on the girls, especially Sansa who reminded him of Catelyn. Brynden Tully would make sure everything was okay.

Thinking Brynden was watching over the Stark children, Jon had not followed up with them after his initial condolences were sent. When he did, none of his messages went through. Granted, it was some months later, ten to be exact, that he was able to call. He thought at least Arya’s cell number and email address would be the same, but every email he sent would come back address unknown and her cell number was no longer in service. Jon had resorted to a more old fashioned method and written to Winterfell, but his letters came back to him stamped “no forwarding address known.”

He wanted to delve further into the mystery of where the surviving Stark children were. Seven Hells, he wasn’t even sure what Bran’s condition was, but then the Night Watch’s mission went into full gear and he was cut off from any more outside contact.  
Jon watched as Ygritte became progressively drunker on the very good and expensive wine served during dinner. Coming from The Gift, Ygritte had grown up poor and with an enormous chip on her shoulder. She was rough, rude and loud and she gave as good as she got. Jon admired her strength and her brashness. He understood her attitude, it was the world against Ygritte and she’d be damned if she’d let the world win. So when Rhaegar came into their lives, Ygritte was as suspicious and leery as Jon. She especially was hostile to Dany. His father and aunt tried to be polite to her, but Jon could tell that the dislike was mutual.

Growing up with very little, Jon wasn’t comfortable with his sudden wealth. The bowing and scraping he encountered wherever he went. The best table in restaurants, the best service in stores, Seven Hells, he couldn’t even buy a tube of toothpaste at the drug store without the store manager insisting he or she personally serve Captain Snow. It was the mix of his heroics in The Gift and the Targaryen name that had the world bowing at his feet.

And the money, Jon suddenly had more money than he knew what to do with. He tried to refuse Rhaegar, but the man had pointed out it was nothing less than what he was entitled to. Jon found some comfort in using some of those vast funds in helping out those less fortunate.

Ygritte, however, had loved it all. She loved the money, the power, the instant fame and respect the money and power bought and she reveled in it, much to Jon’s discomfort. While she could be rude and opinionated, it was usually with someone who had been rude to her in turn. Now she was just unpleasant to everyone, browbeating poor shopkeepers and salespeople who were eager to sell to Jon’s lady. While Jon was hesitant to spend any money on himself, he still only had three different suits that he rotated constantly because he couldn’t understand why a man would need more, Ygritte’s closet bulged with designer clothing that she wore just a few times before she would discard them.

She suddenly became a fan of spas and pampering and drove a fast, red sports car that Jon had hesitantly bought her, not for the expense, but he wasn’t certain she would always be sober when she got behind the wheel.

“What? Can’t spare a car for your fiancée?” she demanded.

Jon had started at her words. He hadn’t asked her to marry him and she wore no engagement ring. Was that what she was telling people, that they were engaged? They hadn’t even talked about marriage.

Instead of getting too deeply into a discussion he had simply given in and bought her the car she wanted, but since that time, he had been hesitant about his relationship with the woman from The Gift.

Finally, the interminable dinner was over and they were having drinks in the parlor. Jon couldn’t believe the Targaryens actually had a parlor. Jon had taken a drunken Ygritte upstairs to sleep off the wine, but had been asked to come and join Rhaegar and Dany. He stared moodily into the fire as his father talked about what would happen on Monday, his first official day at headquarters.

“I’ll be ready,” Jon replied as he took a sip of his ale. He never developed a taste for wine. “Sam has been a good tutor.” Samwell Tarly was Vice-COO for TI and was assigned to get Jon up to speed on everything. He was a young, friendly man with a kind heart and honest soul. Jon liked him immediately. Sam was also wired into everything at TI and proved to be an invaluable teacher and guide.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Rhaegar replied. “Sam Tarly is a good man and one I trust implicitly. Your fellow officer, the one you brought over from the military, Edd, he’s done well and I’m told he’s been very innovative in strengthening our cyber protections.”

Half of Jon’s Night Watch squad had died, but he, Edd Tollett and Tormund Giantsbane had made it out alive. Of them, only Tormund had come out unscathed. Edd had taken a bullet to the ankle and still walked with a limp, but Jon had been in the worst shape. If Tormund had been injured, they likely wouldn’t have made it out alive as he carried Jon to safety while Edd laid down cover fire. After they had all been honorably discharged, the two other men had felt at loose ends as much as Jon had. The one good thing that had come with his new found family was that Jon was able to offer these two brothers in arms a place to land that they could stay in indefinitely or until they figured out if they wanted something else. So far, both men have been very happy with their work, Edd, a computer geek, working on cyber security issues for TI and Tormund acting as Jon’s body guard, not that Jon had needed one, but Rhaegar had insisted, and better to have someone he knew and trusted implicitly than one of Rhaegar’s stiff suited spooks.

“Jon,” Dany got her nephew’s attention. “I have to warn you, while you’ve been at some of the smaller branches of TI and visited some of our factories and other holdings, things are much different at HQ. There’s a different culture there.”

“She means it can be a bit of a political snakepit,” Rhaegar said good-humoredly. “Don’t scare the boy, Dany. It’ll be alright, Jon. You have your typical assorted types in the corporate world, the overly ambitious, the jealous midlevel and the slackers. The majority are good, hardworking and loyal workers. And aside from some of the slackers which we can typically root out quickly, everyone there is very good at their job.”

“Which is why we keep on the overly ambitious and the jealous midlevels,” Dany noted dryly. “It’s good that you have Sam on your side. He won’t lead you astray and he knows where all the pitfalls are. Stick with Sam and you’ll be okay.”

Jon nodded and the subject turned to more mundane things, Rhaegar and Dany pointedly avoiding the one that was snoring upstairs in Jon’s bed.

Later that night, when Jon went to turn in he stood watching Ygritte still snoring loudly, having not even moved from the position Jon had left her in when he tucker her into bed earlier. He sighed and quietly stepped out of his room to go sleep in one of the numerous guest rooms in the house.

The next morning, Ygritte woke up with a hangover and a nasty attitude. She declared she was going to the spa and took off later that morning. Rhaegar was ensconced in his study working on some reports and Dany had gone out riding. Left alone, Jon decided to take a drive and headed to his own car, an Infinity coupe that would have cost him two years of his military pay had he bought it himself.

“Where to?”

Jon sighed as Tormund popped out of nowhere. While the big man was supposed to be his body guard, Jon didn’t really want a body guard.

“Tormund, look, you really don’t need to come with me everywhere,” Jon sighed. “You’re only supposed to be around for public events.”

The redheaded man scowled. “So I’m to be a charity case? Not earn my keep?”

“You can protect Ygritte.”

“Not paid to protect her.”

They had this argument every time and Jon always gave in. He knew his friend’s pride would not allow him to accept charity and the job was a real one. Jon didn’t pay Tormund, his father did, the least Jon could do was to not make things any more difficult for his friend.

“Fine, but I’m driving. You mess with the seat adjustments too much and I have it right where I like it.”

Jon had no idea where he was going and somehow found himself in Flea Bottom outside of the Targaryen Industries headquarters. He parked the car and stepped out to look at the building. It was a huge building of glass and steel, recently renovated to accommodate the latest tenants. It looked like some futuristic castle with spiraling towers encased in glass.

“You ready for Monday?” Tormund grunted as he stood next to Jon, both leaning against the car.

“Do I have much choice?”

Tormund grunted again. “Not really now that the old man has decided you’ll be doing this.” He looked curiously at Jon. “Is it what you want?”

Jon shrugged. He wasn’t sure what he wanted anymore. “I like some of the work.” He looked up at the building. “I just didn’t ever see myself here in this position.”

Tormund laughed. “I don’t think anyone could imagine discovering he’s the long-lost heir to the richest man in Westeros!” He clapped his hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Enjoy it! You’ve got money! You’ve got women throwing themselves at you!”

Jon frowned. “I have Ygritte.”

Tormund looked knowingly at Jon. “A girl you met when you were pretending to be someone else. You sure what you have there for her is real?”

“Of course it is!” Jon snapped back, though he admittedly had been having doubts in the last few months.

Tormund shrugged. “As long as you’re sure.”

Jon huffed out an annoyed breath and pushed off the car. “Come on, let’s take a look around.”

They moved down the street and turned down another, narrower one that was cobbled stoned and filled with small shops. While the street TI HQ was located on was deserted, everyone still out for the holiday weekend, this small street was bustling with activities and Black Friday shoppers. Jon and Tormund looked around them with interest at the quaint shops that seemed to hold a variety of unique and interesting things. Jon made a mental note to drop into the bustling book store and Tormund saw an antiques shop displaying a variety of weapons in its window that he wanted to visit.

They were silent as they moved slowly along through the crowds. However, Tormund was not known to keep quiet too long unless they were moving behind enemy lines. He clapped a meaty hand on Jon’s shoulder.

“Stop your brooding, boy,” the big man said. He nodded to a pretty café that had a flagstone patio up front and window boxes filled with poinsettias. A sign above the door said, “Highgarden Café.” “I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.” Jon agreed, feeling a little chilled by the cold weather. A cup of coffee sounded good.

He steered Jon into the café, a bell twinkling overhead. It was half-filled, the majority of the lunch crowd having dispersed. A dark haired waitress in a floral dress with an apron covering the front greeted them from across the room.

“Just pick a table and someone will be with you in a moment,” she called out cheerily as she took some dirty dishes through a pair of swing doors into what they presumed was the kitchen.

Jon picked a table by the front window and looked around. The place was small, with maybe about a dozen tables. A large counter with a glass display case housed all matter of delicious items: cookies, cupcakes, croissants, tarts and some things Jon didn’t even know the names of. He looked at some of the other patrons who were enjoying soups, sandwiches, salads, or something from the tempting display case. The décor was an eclectic, but tasteful mix of furniture. Small wooden café tables painted with various flowers. The chairs were padded and comfortable, but didn’t match each other. From the exposed ceiling beams hung bunches of drying herbs above the register and in the dining area fairy lights.

It was warm and cozy and from the expression on the patron’s faces, the food was very good.

Tormund took an appreciative sniff of the air. “Smells good. I could go for some food.”

Jon nodded, eyeing another diner’s soup bowl. It looked like some sort of chowder. Jon loved a good seafood chowder.

“Welcome to the Highgarden Café. My name is Sansa, how can I help you today?” The voice came from behind Jon’s shoulder, his back to the speaker.

Jon froze when he heard the voice, a little deeper than what he remembered, but still clear and girlish, and the name. Slowly he turned to look at the waitress who spoke and saw a face he recognized but had changed so much since he last saw her. But the coppery hair and bright blue eyes were unmistakable.

“Sansa?” Jon breathed out as he slowly stood to face her.

Those blue eyes blinked once. Twice. Her mouth opened and closed and finally she said in a whisper. “Jon?”

 

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

As Jon and Sansa stared at each other, Tormund and seven other people at various tables stared at them, sensing something momentous was happening.

Jon could not believe his eyes. He had been thinking of the Starks for quite a while and knew he wanted to find them, to reconnect, but with his recovery and the discovery he was actually Rhaegar Targaryen’s son, he had pushed them to the back of his mind. Now, after just randomly walking into a café, he found one of them right before him. 

And all he could think of was how beautiful she looked.

It would seem the fates were toying with her in some way. Just the day after Arya had mentioned Jon Snow’s name, someone she had not thought of in years, here he was standing before her. She realized immediately the quiet boy that was always around Robb was no longer a boy. The handsome features she had merely glanced at in the news story photo she looked at yesterday were secondary as she stared into his dark eyes, eyes that held disbelief but also warmth and tenderness.

The careful walls she had built the past five years, the tamping down of emotions, the resolution she would shed no more tears, and she hadn’t since Brynden’s funeral, crumbled when faced with those eyes. Sansa felt a sob rise up in her throat, nearly choking her unless she got it out. Her body began to tremble, tears stung her eyes and without realizing it, she felt her body propel forward as she flung herself at Jon.

He met her halfway, taking a small step forward his arms wide open. The force of her body colliding with his barely moved him as he wrapped his arms around her. She was tall, perhaps an inch taller than him, but still he lifted her easily off her feet, her weight so slight. He breathed in the smell of her, cinnamon, nutmeg, and something that was uniquely hers. In a year filled with such turmoil, such confusion, the mission, almost losing his life, finding out he never was who he thought, Jon had been living in a state of uncertainty, doubts. It all fell away with Sansa in his arms. He could smell the snow in her hair, feel the silk of her skin as she nuzzled her cheek against his and for the first time in a year, Jon felt his soul settled and one word came to mind: home. 

He remembered Winterfell. He remembered who he was. He remembered himself.

He felt so solid against her. Warm and strong. Familiar. Sansa could feel the tension she had been holding in her body for the past five years melt bit by bit. She nuzzled her face against his, smelling pine, smoke, and winter clinging to his skin and she remembered home. She remembered playing in the snow with her brothers and sister. She remembered her father’s laugh, her mother’s smile and Robb’s gentle teasing. Tears she had kept bottled up for five years burst forth and she sobbed into the crook of Jon’s neck.

“Hush, sweetling,” she heard Jon murmur as he stroked her hair. “I’m here now.”

So lost where they in each other they didn’t notice the others staring at them. Nor did they notice the bell above the door jingle signaling a new customer had entered.

“Get your hands off of her you bastard!”

Jon and Sansa jumped away from each other and stared at the owner of the booming voice. He was tall, maybe even taller than Tormund and Jon could see one side of his face was horribly scarred. He was glaring at Jon and stalking menacingly towards them.

“What did you do? Why is she crying? If you hurt her, I’ll break you in two!” the giant snarled as he reached out for Jon.

Tormund was suddenly between them as Jon moved Sansa behind him. “Back off, mate!” Tormund commanded as he shoved the newcomer. “Mind your own business.”

“Oh, no, Sandor, it’s not-“ Sansa began in a soft a voice, still filled with tears.

But Sandor wasn’t listening as he turned his ire on Tormund. “Pretty boy has someone fighting for him?” he sneered.

“Pretty boy can take care of himself,” Jon growled. He could feel Sansa trying to move around him, no doubt about to insert herself between the two taller men. Jon shot an arm backwards and hooked his hand around her hip, keeping her well behind his body. He registered her making an annoyed huffing sound, but he ignored her, keeping his eye on the scarred man, his body on high alert for any movement that signaled danger.

Sandor snorted in derision at Jon’s statement. “I doubt it, Pretty Boy. But I’d like to see you try.”

“Just back off, now!” Tormund barked as he pushed Sandor slightly.

Sandor growled and started to move forward when two strong hands came between the men and shoved them apart, sending both off balance.

At first Jon thought it was another tall man with short blond hair, but then he realized it was a woman in a dark pants suit. She wore no makeup and looked rather plain but for her strikingly pretty blue eyes; blue eyes that were regarding Tormund and Sandor coolly.

“Why don’t both of you back off,” she said in an authoritative voice. Her hands went to her hips, pushing back the sides of her jacket to reveal a holstered gun at her waist and a badge pinned on her belt. “What’s going on here?”

“Yes, I’d like to know why two men are about to brawl in my establishment and us not even serving alcohol!” 

Jon looked over at the latest entrant, a pretty woman with light brown hair and shrewd eyes. She was standing next to a young, dark haired man who was gazing uncertainly at the tall blonde woman.

“It’s all a misunderstanding,” Sansa said in her quiet voice that only trembled slightly with a trace of tears. “This is Jon. Jon Snow, an old friend of my family whom I haven’t seen in years. I guess my emotions just got the best of me.” She gave a watery laugh.

“I’m sorry, Sansa,” Jon’s voice had dipped into a soft rumble as he turned to rub his hands soothingly up and down her arms. He ignored Tormund’s raised eyebrows. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Sansa waved her hand dismissively and tried to wipe the tears from her face.

“Ah,” Margery nodded. “And Sandor thought you had done something horrible to her.” She turned to the scarred man. “You can stop playing guard dog now, Sandor. All is well. Now, why don’t you take your regular table and I’ll get your usual out?” Margery led the glowering man to a corner table, chattering all the way.

“And who are you?” the tall blonde woman asked Tormund suspiciously.

“Tormund Giantsbane,” he said as he gazed at the woman with a gleam in his eye. “And you are…Detective…?”

“Detective Brienne Tarth,” she said stiffly. She glanced around, seeing Sansa having regained her composure and Sandor settled down. She could also see Margery beginning to do damage control with the remaining patrons who were staring with unbridled curiosity at the group. “Everything looks to be okay now, so my partner and I will go. Pod?”

The dark-haired man nodded and went out the front door. Brienne was about to follow when Tormund stopped her.

“Uh detective, I think there might be some need for your services.” 

Brienne arched an eyebrow at him. “Oh?”

“Uh, yes, uh,” Tormund scrambled for something to say. “I’m Jon Snow’s body guard and really, I think I should discuss with local law enforcement any issues that can be a danger to him.” Tormund waggled his eyebrows at her. “Maybe over dinner we can talk about possible scenarios I should be prepared for?”

Brienne’s lips thinned into a single line. She had recognized Jon, who hadn’t, well, maybe Sandor, but she had no intention of discussing any “scenarios” with this man. “That would more likely be something you should discuss with my Captain. You can reach him at the Kings Landing police headquarters.” She gave a sharp nod to Sansa and spun on her heel to leave.

Jon was already turning his attention back to Sansa who was wiping the remaining traces of tears from her face. He put his hands gently on her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, taking one final swipe at her eyes with the back of one hand. “Sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I-“

“Sansa,” Jon said warmly in that Northern accent she had missed hearing. “It’s alright.” He pulled his hands back and rubbed the back of his neck. “Actually, Tormund and I should be apologizing. We didn’t mean to cause such a disturbance in your restaurant.”

Sansa looked around and blushed, realizing that what few patrons there were had been treated to quite a show. A quick glance told her they were all Highgarden regulars and Margery was already quietly speaking to each of them. Sansa relaxed marginally, knowing that while there’ll still be some gossip, at least it’ll be contained to just a few people and absolutely nothing will likely show up in the press or on social media. She wasn’t even certain the older patrons present even knew about social media.

“It’s okay. These are all old friends here.” She frowned, suddenly realizing Jon’s position. “Don’t worry, Margery will make sure nothing about you appears in the gossip columns,” she hastened to reassure him.

Jon frowned in dismay, having not thought of what might appear in the press. He never really worried about that, but Rhaegar and Dany wouldn’t care for the attention. In fact, they had spoken to him several times regarding some of the more colorful accounts of Ygritte’s behavior that had made it into the gossip columns. They hadn’t been happy. He nodded and looked around, already seeing the other patrons going back to their meals. “I guess Tormund and I should get going. We’ve caused you enough trouble.”

“But-,” Tormund began in dismay but closed his mouth when Jon glared at him. Tormund was very hungry and the food was looking and smelling very good.

Sansa let out a short breath that sounded like a pale imitation of a laugh. “Hungry? Never let it be said that anyone left the Highgarden Café unsatisfied.” She looked around and then headed towards the kitchen. “Follow me.”

She led a curious Jon and Tormund through the swinging doors into a kitchen that was about half the size of the dining room. Two other women were in the back, one was the dark haired waitress that had greeted Jon and Tormund and the other was a short young woman who wore a white cap over her short brown hair as she rolled out some dough. They looked up the men in surprised.

Sansa ignored them and led Jon and Tormund to a table tucked off to the side. It was a weathered, high butcher block table that had two bright blue stools on either side. She pointed to the table.

“In fancy restaurants they say being allowed to eat at the chef’s table in the kitchen is a great honor. Sit. We keep this space for some of our close friends to enjoy a meal.”

“Like that detective?” Tormund asked, remembering she had come from the back.

Sansa nodded. “Detective Tarth and her partner, Sergeant Payne. They come often and everyone knows they’re cops so they get asked questions or get complaints from some of the other customers about this and that. Like how their neighbor plays music too loud or the fact that some teenagers seem to be up to no good because they’re hanging around a shop. Back here they can get a little privacy and enjoy their meal in peace. I figured you guys might want to be away from everyone else after what happened.”

Jon smiled at her and Sansa felt her breath catch. “Thank you, Sansa, this is very thoughtful of you.”

Mentally, she shook herself. Get a grip, Sansa. “Now, what can I get you two?” She rattled off their limited menu.

While Margery had initially started off with the idea of a bakery, she and Sansa quickly decided that the space would be best used for a small café as well. Highgarden Café was primarily known for their delicious baked goods, but their small luncheon menu had also gained a loyal following. To keep things simple, Margery and Sansa had agreed to only do sandwiches, soups, salads and the occasional quiche specials. Jon and Tormund had opted for soup and sandwiches. Sansa spun around to start their food after she had brought them each large mugs of hot, strong coffee.

Tormund watched Jon as the other man’s eyes followed Sansa’s movements. “So, she’s one of them Stark children you mentioned? The ones you grew up with?”

Jon nodded, taking a sip of his coffee, but then his eyes returned to the redhead who seemed to dance through the kitchen in graceful movements. “Robb was the oldest and Sansa right after him.”

“She don’t look like a kid.”

“No. No, she’s grown up. It has been five years,” Jon replied.

Tormund made a grunting noise that had Jon looking at him suspiciously. “What?”

“Don’t let Ygritte see her, not with the way you look at her.”

“What do you mean?” Jon’s eyes narrowed at his friend.

“Jon, I’ve never seen you look at anyone, not even Ygritte, in the way you look at her.” Tormund jerked a thumb in the direction of Sansa. 

“What? Like a brother? I’ve told you Tormund, I was close to her family. To all of them.”

“Even her? I don’t recall you mentioning to a Sansa much. I think I recall you even saying the two of you weren’t that close.” Tormund raised his eyebrows at his friend.

“Well, she was younger, and we had different interests, but yeah, I mean, I always cared,” sputtered Jon indignantly.

“Oh, it’s obvious you care,” Tormund said sotto voce. 

“Listen here you farting bag of-,” Jon began as he leaned across the table.

“Chowder and sandwiches,” Sansa announced as she set plates in front of each man, both containing a soup bowl and a sandwich cut in half. She started to move away, but Jon’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Sansa gasped sharply and shrank away from him, pulling her arm free from his loose grip.

Jon’s eyes widened and Tormund’s eyebrows shot up. Jon slowly rose to his feet, his hands held up where she could see them. He could see the flicker of fear in her eyes. “Sansa?” he said gently.

She seemed to collect herself and Jon watched in amazement as a cool mask slipped over her features. “Sorry,” she murmured. Sansa cleared her throat and said in a stronger voice. “You startled me.”

“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that,” Jon continued gently. “Please, won’t you join us? We have so much to catch up on and well, I want to know what you’ve all been doing the past five years.” 

Sansa glanced doubtfully at Tormund who got the message. She didn’t want to speak in front of a stranger. “Uh, yes, well,” Tormund stuttered, at a loss as to what to do. He picked up his lunch and started to get out of his seat, ready to go back into the dining area. “I can just-“

“No, Mr. Giantsbane, you don’t have to-,” Sansa started to say as Jon added his own, “Thanks, Tormund.”

A small beeping noise interrupted them and Sansa pulled her cellphone out of a pocket in her dress. She sighed as she acknowledged the alarm. “I can’t stay anyway. I need to go.” She started to turn away.

“Sansa, please,” Jon begged. He couldn’t just let her walk away. Granted she worked just around the corner from where he would be working, but he didn’t want to just see her during her working hours. “How do I get in touch with you?”

She was already pulling one of the café’s business cards from her pocket and handing it to him. “Bran and Arya’s cell phone numbers are on there.” She smiled at him. “They were just talking about you yesterday. I’m sure they’d love to hear from you.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I really have to go. It was nice seeing you, Jon.” She spun around without another word. Jon watched as she grabbed a jacket and purse hanging on a peg and walk out a back door.

Jon glanced down at the card in his hands and saw two numbers with the names “Bran” and “Arya” next to one of each. A frown marred his face as he realized Sansa didn’t put her cell number on there. He made up his mind and hurried out after her. 

The door led out to a small parking lot in the back of the café. An old green jeep was just beginning to pull out into traffic. Jon could see a flash of red hair.

“Sansa!” he called out, but she was already merging into traffic and sped off to wherever she was going.

Jon let out an annoyed breath as he went back into the kitchen and to the table where Tormund was happily slurping away at his soup and taking large bites of his sandwich.

“Couldn’t catch her?”

Jon shook his head and began to eat his soup. It was delicious, but he realized he was no longer hungry. “Why didn’t she give me her cell number?” he murmured to himself.

Tormund let out a loud laugh. “Can’t expect every woman to fall at your feet, Snow!” He clapped a meaty hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Cheer up. You know where she works so you’ll see that pretty face again.”

Jon scowled at his friend. “It’s not like that, Tormund! I want to know what’s happened in the last five years. And why did she flinch like that when I grabbed her wrist. You saw that and you know what that likely means.”

Tormund sobered and he nodded. “Aye. Nothing good. But you can’t force these things, Jon. If she wants to talk to you she will. But in the meantime,” he nodded to the business card Jon had set down on the table. “You’ve got the numbers of some people who sound eager to talk to you.”

Jon had to smile at that and he picked up the card to stow safely away in the inner pocket of his jacket. Tormund was right. He had a chance now to see and talk to Arya and Bran. How he had missed them! He couldn’t wait to see them again.

*/*/*/*/*

Before Sansa pulled out of the Highgarden’s parking lot, she had texted Arya. “Jon came into the café today. Didn’t get a chance to speak much but gave him your cell. Expect a call soon.” She started up the Jeep and winced when she heard the loud knocking noise that had started that morning as she drove to work.

Two minutes after she had sent the text, Arya was calling her.

“You saw Jon!!” her sister shrieked so loudly Sansa didn’t need to have the phone on speaker.

“I did. He came into the café for lunch.”

“How was he? How did he look? Did he ask about me? Can he come over for dinner?”

Sansa laughed. “Whoa! We really didn’t have a chance to talk. I had to leave almost right away for the mall.”

“Oh, that’s right, your holiday job starts today.” 

“Every year on Black Friday.”

Arya sighed. “You know, you don’t need to do that this year, sucking up to all those rich, stuck up bitches.”

“Yes I do,” Sansa replied loudly over the engine noise. “If Bran wants to go to that fancy computer thing in January, we’re going to need the extra money. Besides, maybe I can pick up another order for a dress or something.”

“What’s that noise?” Arya asked suddenly. “Is that your car?”

“Yeah, it was making that noise this morning. It actually sounds worse now.”

Arya groaned. “You better let me take it into the shop tomorrow. It doesn’t sound good. Remember the last time I looked at it I told you it might be time to get rid of it.”

“Arya, you know we can’t afford a new car. You’re just going to have to patch it up and get another two years out of it.” By then Sansa would be able to access her trust fund.

Arya sighed. “I’ll see what I can do. But in the meantime, you think Jon will call soon?”

Sansa laughed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you hear from him later today.”

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Jon and Tormund quickly finished their lunch. The dark haired waitress, Gilly as she introduced herself, refilled their coffee cups and asked if they wanted anything else.

“Just the bill, thanks,” Jon replied as he reached for his wallet.

“Oh, it’s taken care of. Sansa saw to it.”

Jon’s lips thinned with displeasure. He didn’t like it when he was comped at restaurants or bars just because he was Rhaegar Targaryen’s long lost son or a military hero. He believed in paying his own way, especially if it was some small establishment where he knew profit margins could be slim.

“That wasn’t necessary,” Jon replied stiffly.

Gilly shrugged. “That’s what Sansa said. You can always talk to the owner, Margery. She’s up front.”

Jon was startled. He thought Sansa was the owner. Why else would Sansa Stark be working in a café? Jon got up to go talk to Margery with Tormund on his heels.

Margery was just handing a customer back his change when Jon caught her eye. She said goodbye to the other man and then turned to Jon and Tormund. “Gentlemen, enjoy your lunch?”

“It was delicious,” Jon replied. “We’d like to pay our bill.”

“Sansa has already taken care of it.”

“I can’t have her doing that. Please, I’d like to pay for it,” Jon protested.

Margery shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s already taken care of and I know better than to go against Sansa once her mind is made up.” A sly look came into Margery’s eyes. “However, if you would like to purchase some of our baked goods…” She glanced over at the almost empty glass case.

Tormund barked out a laugh as the corners of Jon’s mouth twitched. He’ll make it up to Sansa later. Meanwhile, some of those pastries were looking very tempting.

“It’s the end of the day for us,” Margery continued, “So most of our stuff is gone, but I can assure you that everything Highgarden Café has to offer is of excellent quality.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Jon murmured as he peered into the case. He thought Rhaegar, Dany and Ygritte might enjoy some sweet treats. “I think I’ll take the rest of those cream cylinder things and an assortment of cookies. One dozen.”

“Cannoli,” Margery said as she started to box up his order.

“Lovely café you have here,” Jon continued as he watched Margery work efficiently and quickly. “Has Sansa worked here long?”

“From the first day,” Margery replied cheerfully. “I knew I couldn’t make this place work without her.” Her shrewd eyes took in Jon. “She started off as our baker, but she’s the manager now. We’ve been at this for five years.”

Jon stared at her. Baker? Why the hell did Sansa have to work as a baker? The Starks were rich. After Ned and Catelyn died, Jon thought she would continue her college education. Oh, maybe she would have taken a break to mourn and help Arya and Bran, but she had always wanted to go to college and do something in fashion or the arts.

“But what about school?” Jon asked in bewilderment. “Didn’t Sansa finish college?”

Margery neatly taped down the lid of the pastry box containing Jon’s order. “That’ll be thirty-five dollars please.” She took the two twenties Jon handed over and gave him his change. “That is a question for Sansa.” She glanced at the clock. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, we close at 3 pm and as you’re our last customers…”

Jon and Tormund murmured goodbyes and walked out of the café. Jon was silent as they made their way to his car and didn’t speak again until they were on the road back to the Targaryen mansion.

“Things don’t add up,” Jon muttered.

“What do you mean?” Tormund asked as he sneaked a cookie from the pastry box which he was currently holding in his lap.

“Sansa Stark working in a café. As a baker!”

Tormund shrugged. “You said half her family including both parents were killed. She needed to find work.”

“But that’s the thing,” Jon replied. “The Starks are rich! You should see their estate, Winterfell! I mean, they aren’t rich like Rhaegar, but Sansa shouldn’t have wanted for anything. And I remember how much she wanted to go to college. But according to Margery, it sounds like she’s been working for her since Ned and Cat died. It doesn’t make sense!”

“Just ask her,” Tormund mumbled, his mouth full of snickerdoodle.

“She didn’t even give me her cell number,” Jon grumbled. He glared at Tormund. “Stop eating all the cookies.”

“Then call the sister. The one you were closer to. Anna?”

“Arya.”

“Yeah. Sansa gave you and the other one, the brother’s, phone numbers.”

Jon nodded and a smile curled up his face. It would be good to speak to Arya and Bran again. Jon wasn’t even certain how Bran was doing after the accident. 

“I’ll call them tonight,” Jon decided.

*/*/*/*/*

Sansa smoothed the skirt of her woolen dress as she watched the demanding redhead walk away. For the last three hours she had been assisting the annoying customer who wanted to look at everything from evening dresses to active wear to lingerie. Nothing had been good enough in the woman’s eyes and her preferred bit of exercise was simply dropping clothing she had been examining on the floor and leaving it. Sansa had spent a good amount of her time simply picking up after her. The woman also kept talking about how she wanted to make sure she looked perfect for her hot, rich boyfriend. Sansa had started to tune the woman out after a few minutes.

Five years ago, Taylors, one of Kings Landings most exclusive luxury department stores, advertised for seasonal workers to help with the holiday crush. Sansa had begun in the stock room and floor runner in cosmetics, but with her pretty, neat appearance, her impeccable manners and what easily became evident good taste, they had moved her up as an assistant sales associate. Gradually, over the years, she was moved into a personal shopper position which meant she personally handled customers and took them around the store helping them select the perfect gift for the people on their holiday list. It was unusual to have a seasonal worker in such a position, but Taylors’ management specifically wanted her there to help the men who came into the store looking haplessly around for help in finding a gift. The men tended to gravitate and listen more to a pretty, young, sympathetic woman. They also tended to spend more money, rarely hesitating to buy what she might suggest.

Which worked out well for Sansa. The seasonal work paid only minimum wage. The job started out as extra money to help get them through the holidays but with her promotion to personal shopper, Sansa also earned a commission on every sale she made. The better saleswoman she was, the more she took home in her paycheck. 

“Whew!” Arianne, a regular employee breathed out as she came up to Sansa. They stood next to each other watching the retreating figure of the woman Sansa had been helping. “That was a piece of work.”

Sansa shrugged. During the holidays, shoppers were usually stressed and short-tempered. The richer they were, the more short-tempered they tended to be. “At least she bought a few things so my time with her wasn’t completely wasted.”

“I would hope so,” Arianne snorted. “Considering who her boyfriend is, she can afford to spend some money.”

“Mmm,” Sansa made a noncommittal noise, already losing interest in the difficult customer as she straightened some sweaters on a shelf. “She did say something about a rich boyfriend, but I tuned her out after the first minute or two.”

Arianne laughed. “Rich? That’s putting it mildly. That woman is Jon Snow’s girlfriend. You know, the Lost Prince, Rhaegar Targaryen’s heir.”

Sansa’s head snapped around to look at Arianne. “Jon Snow? That’s his girlfriend?”

Arianne nodded. “Child, you need to read the social pages more. Yes, some woman he brought back with him from the Gift which explains the less than polished manners. You can dress a pig in a silk dress, but it’s still a pig.”

“Arianne!” Sansa said sharply.

“I’m sorry, darling, but it’s obvious that woman was putting on airs and she was compensating by bossing you around and spending money.” Arianne sniffed. “Jon Snow could do much better.”

Sansa shrugged, nonchalantly. It was none of her business, but she did feel a small twinge of disappointment to hear Jon had a girlfriend. She shook her head, telling herself not to be silly about it. Jon just walked back into her life and a part of her, that romantic, starry eyed girl she had thought was gone, but was merely hiding in some deep recess of her heart had leapt to all sorts of wild thoughts; a handsome, rich hero riding into her life to solve all her problems. That would not do. Experience has taught Sansa to not be that girl. A rich man never solved anything and could only make her life worse. The only outcome would be pain.

Mentally, she shook herself. “Well, that’s his business.” She saw two men looking lost and nudged Arianne. “And that is ours. Gentlemen, may we be of assistance?” she asked sweetly as she stepped forward with a bright smile.

*/*/*/*/*

“Where were you?”

Ygritte set the shopping bags she had carried into their room and turned around. Jon was dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a sweat shirt. Ygritte raised an eyebrow.

“I was shopping. Not dressing for dinner? Won’t Dany pitch a fit?” Ygritte said “Dany” with a slight curl of her lip. To say the two women did not get along would be an understatement.

“She’s dining with friends tonight and Rhaegar had an early dinner. I wanted to wait for you.” Jon smiled and came forward to take her in his arms and kiss her, but Ygritte turned her head.

“Careful, my makeup is done. I thought we go out tonight and check out that new night club, Boltons. I got a new dress and everything.”

“Ygritte, I don’t feel like going to a club,” Jon sighed as she moved away to pull a dress from one of the shopping bags. “Let’s just have a quiet dinner here with the two of us. There’s something that happened today that I want to talk to you about.” 

“Well, I do,” Ygritte snapped. “Come on! Some of the women at the spa were talking about it being the place to be seen. We can have some drinks, dance-“

“I don’t dance.”

“Okay, just shuffle about.” She moved towards Jon and raked her nails up his chest, a sly look on her face. “You know how hot our sex is when we’ve both had some drinks.”

Jon flushed, a twinge of desire stirring within him. Their sex was hot after a few drinks. The only problem was that lately, Ygritte didn’t stop at a few drinks.

“Ygritte,” he said gently, taking her hands in his. “Maybe you shouldn’t go out tonight. Let’s just spend a quiet night at home. You’ve been partying so much and I’m getting concerned by how much you’ve been drinking.”

She snatched her hands back and narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you calling me a drunk?”

“No! I’m just saying you seem to be drinking a little more than usual and it’s not good for you. Plus you’ve been going out so much, you’re always so tired the next day.”

“I stayed in yesterday to be with your boring family who hate my guts.”

“It was Thanksgiving and they don’t hate your guts,” Jon sighed.

“Sure. I’m sure Dany just loves me,” Ygritte sneered. “She always looks at me like I’m something stuck to the bottom of her shoe. You know, before you found out you were this rich guy’s long lost son, you didn’t give a damn about what rich people thought of you.”

“I don’t now,” Jon said sharply. “Rhaegar and Dany have been nothing but kind to you and all you’ve been is antagonistic.”

“Oh, so I’m a bitch as well as a drunk!” Ygritte screamed. “You know what Jon, just fuck off! You can forget about getting into my pants you bastard!” She stormed out of the room, slamming the door so hard behind her it rattled the pictures on the walls.

Jon sighed and sank down onto the bed, running his hand through his hair. He didn’t know how his simple request that they stay in so he could tell her about meeting Sansa had dissolved into an argument. Ygritte knew all about his history with the Starks and he thought if anyone would listen to him talk about how he felt, knowing he had seen Sansa and would soon see the others, it would be her. She knew how much finding the remaining Starks meant to him. He imagined Ygritte being supportive and understanding, but he didn’t even get a chance to even say one word to her before they were fighting, an all too common thing these days.

The Highgarden Café business card on Jon’s nightstand caught his eye. He picked it up and fingered one corner as he thought about what he would do next. Coming to a decision he picked up his cell phone and dialed one of the numbers written on the back.

“What?!” an annoyed voice barked out after a few rings.

Even after all this time, Jon recognized the voice and the familiar greeting. “Arya?”

There was a pause at the other end. “Yeah?”

“It’s Jon.”

There was another pause but he could hear her breathing. “Jon? Jon?! JON!!!”

He laughed at the excitement in her voice and then heard her yelling at someone else. “Bran! Bran! It’s Jon! Jon’s on the line! Oh Jon! Is it really you?”

“Yes, yes it’s me. I saw Sansa today and she gave me your phone number.”

“She told me. Hang on, Bran, I’ll put him on speaker.”

Jon heard a beep and then he heard Bran calling his name, asking him if it was truly him.

Jon laughed, the bad feelings that his argument with Ygritte had generated disappearing. “Yes. Yes, it’s me. Gods, I missed all of you.”

“When can we see you?” Arya asked. “Can you come over tonight? You can have dinner here!”

Jon hesitated. Well, why not? If he didn’t go, he was likely just going to grab some leftovers and go to bed early, probably in the guest room again not wanting to deal with Ygritte when she stumbled back in from the night club. 

“Yes. Yes, I can. Just text me your address and I’ll be there.”

“Great! We’re having mac and cheese!”

A wave of nostalgia and longing wafted over Jon. He remembered Catelyn’s macaroni and cheese, one of his favorite dishes. For the second time that day, he felt a peace settle over him, a sense of belonging and calmness he had not felt in a very long time.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he told them.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Jon didn’t want Tormund to accompany him to his dinner with the Starks. Technically, Tormund was only required when Jon was making public appearances, but the man took his duties seriously and would often just appear as Jon was about to leave for even the most mundane of things.

He had already told his body guard that he would be staying in for the rest of the evening, having planned to have an intimate dinner with Ygritte, so Tormund was likely relaxing in front of the TV watching the game on that night with a six pack of beer and half of the pastries Jon had bought earlier. 

It was a simple matter then for Jon to slip down to the garage and sneak out. The irony was not lost on him as he pulled out of the grounds of the estate that here he was, a grown man, a military hero, sneaking out on a Friday night, hoping he wouldn’t be caught.

It was about a thirty minute drive to the Starks and as he drew nearer, he frowned in confusion. The neighborhood, even in the dim evening light, he could see was rundown and shabby. What were the Starks doing living in such a place?

His GPS led him to a small house that was set on a slightly larger lot than the other houses around it. It was a small, two-story, wood and brick structure that had a covered porch out front, a few large trees that were bare in the winter night and warm lights in the window framed by shutters that were pushed open. It was too dark to see too many details, but from the little he could see, while the house may have been kept a little better than some of its neighbors, it still had the same rundown, shabby look the rest of the neighborhood sported.

He stepped out of the car he parked on the street out front and went up the cleared walk way to the front door. He stamped his boots on the doormat and rang the doorbell. A few seconds later, the door was flung back and he found himself staring into a pair of familiar brown eyes.

“Jon!” Arya shrieked before she threw herself into his arms with such force, Jon rocked back on his heels. His arms automatically came up to wrap around her small body as she hugged him fiercely. “Jon!” she choked out in a smaller voice.  
“Hey squirt,” he said gently into her hair. 

“Is Arya crying?” came a teasing voice inside the house.

Jon looked up and his smile faltered slightly when he saw Bran in the living room in his wheelchair. Arya stepped back from Jon and wiped her face furiously with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “I am not crying!” she snapped.

Jon looked back at her and grinned, ruffling her hair gently before he made his way to Bran. He leaned down and gently pulled the boy into his arms. “Hello, Bran.”

“Jon,” Bran returned. “It’s good to see you again.”

Jon stepped back and looked between the two, a loss for words. Like Sansa, Arya looked the same, but not really. She hadn’t gotten much taller since he last saw her and her large dark eyes and the short, chin length hair she preferred were still the same as was the obstinate set to her chin. But there was also a hardness in her eyes, an intensity that inspired a bit of uneasiness in Jon.

Bran was a different story. He was only a little boy when Jon last saw him, but now he was so changed. There was the obvious difference with the wheelchair and Jon’s heart ached when he saw it, but while Jon could see a toughness, a hardness in Bran’s sister, that was missing from the boy. Instead, there was almost a serenity about him and an air of, well, Jon could only think of the word “wisdom” to describe it. Like Bran had some insight the rest of them didn’t. He could remember Catelyn always saying that of her children, Bran seemed to have been born with the oldest soul.

Arya was suddenly grabbing Jon’s hand and dragging him towards the back of the house. “Come on! Dinner is ready and we can’t wait to hear about your mission in The Gift!”

Jon’s training taught him to observe and observe quickly. Even though he was being pulled along, his mind had noted that the house was small and some of the furnishings looked worn and familiar. He realized they were pieces from Winterfell, furniture he was familiar with from his time spent with the Starks. Most of the furniture was meant for a larger space so the house had a sort of cramped, but not uncomfortable appearance to it. It was clean, neat and shabby, much like what a lady in reduced circumstances would look like as she tried to maintain appearances and her pride.

To Jon’s surprise, he wasn’t led to a dining room, but the kitchen. He quickly realized there likely wasn’t a dining room. He had entered into basically what was the living room and pulled into a kitchen beyond it. He had passed a short hallway that led off to a few smaller rooms and a staircase that led to the second story.

The kitchen was another story. At some point in the past ten years, someone must have remodeled the kitchen as it had a more modern appearance than the other parts of the house he had seen. Nothing was new, but there was a large stainless steel refrigerator, marble countertops and plain cabinets in good condition. A small table that could be expanded to sit six around it was in the middle of the kitchen. Currently it was set up in a square to accommodate four people. A large stoneware casserole dish sat steaming in the middle of it resting on an iron trivet, both items he recognized from Catelyn Stark’s kitchen many years ago. There was a large green salad and three place settings. Jon’s eyebrow rose at that.

“Where’s Sansa?”

Bran was pushing himself up to the table as Arya was gesturing for Jon to take a seat as she moved to serve the macaroni and cheese. “Sansa? Working.”

Jon frowned. Margery clearly said they were closing the café. “The café closed at 3 o’clock.”

“Not at the café, the mall. At Taylors,” Arya replied off-handedly as she set a filled plate before Jon. When she saw he hadn’t said anything or moved, but continued to stare at her, she clarified. “Seasonal work. Every year, right before Christmas, Sansa has a job at that fancy department store. It started today.”

“She gets a commission on everything she sells,” Bran chimed in as helped himself to some salad. “Sansa is good at it and can make quite a bit of money before the job is over.”

Jon continued to stare at them. Sansa Stark was working at two jobs and Bran and Arya were speaking of it as the most natural thing in the world?

Jon sat down abruptly and loudly, finally getting the Starks’ attention. “Would someone please explain to me why Sansa needs to work two jobs? Why you guys are living here? What happened to Brynden? What in Seven Hells happened?”

*/*/*/*/*

Sansa was tired and cold. All she wanted to do was get home and tumble into bed. The seasonal work at Taylors brought in money they always seemed to need, but those four weeks of working two jobs took their toll on her physically. But it was always worth it. Whether it was getting enough funds to be sure they could pay their heating bill to being able to buy special gifts for Bran and Arya for Christmas so there was some normalcy, some hope in their lives, every lost hour of sleep was worth it.

But what she was doing now was praying because the noise that had started that morning was worse and was now accompanied by a sputtering and lurching. It was all Sansa could do to keep the Jeep going in a straight line. 

Finally, five miles from home, the engine gave out completely. She was barely able to safely coast the Jeep to the side of the road and park. She tried several times to restart the engine, but it only gave a wheezing sound and then silence. Sighing, Sansa picked up her cell phone and then cursed when she saw it was completely dead. She had forgotten to recharge it at the café earlier in the day.

With a sigh, Sansa picked up her large tote bag and her purse. Zipped her coat up completely and wrapped her scarf more securely around her neck before she stepped out of the car and walked the five miles home in the dark.

*/*/*/*/*

Jon sat on the familiar leather couch that was just a little too large for the small living room staring at Arya and Bran. It had taken their entire meal and some time on the couch before the entire story of what happened to the Stark children after the deaths of their parents and brothers was fully told. Jon had interrupted frequently with questions and Bran and Arya had talked and contradicted each other at times, but Jon finally had the full story.

And he was livid.

“And you trust this Baelish when he says there’s no money?” Jon growled as he stood up and began pacing in the small room.

Arya shook her head. “Sansa doesn’t-“

“Oh, I can see why she doesn’t trust the snake,” Jon snarled. He would deal with what that man tried to do to Sansa later, but right now he was focused on the supposed lack of money from the Stark estate that forced Sansa to drop out of college and work two jobs and Arya to forgo college as well so she could be a mechanic.

“But none of us can make heads or tails of the books. We need to hire an attorney but we can’t afford one,” Arya continued. “Sansa’s friend Margery has offered to help, but Sansa doesn’t like accepting charity.”

“She’s had too many offers in the past with strings attached,” Bran tied in. “And while Margery is her friend, what we really need is someone who’s more familiar with estate law and that was beyond her attorney’s capabilities. She did recommend someone else, but they wanted a lot of money.”

Jon nodded. He sat down again and stared intently at Arya and Bran. “Tell me more about Baelish. Has he bothered you guys since he tried to proposition Sansa after Brynden’s funeral?” He saw the sibling give each other side eye glances and his face dropped into a suspicious scowl. “What happened?”

Arya sighed. “No, he doesn’t come by much here anymore. We deal with him mainly through the phone or correspondence because there’s a little of the estate left. Not the trust funds. That wasn’t part of Dad’s estate. Brynden was in control of those and when he died, it went to his law firm to administer.”

Bran nodded. “Baelish hasn’t been by since-,” Arya, who was sitting next to Bran, kicked her brother. He turned to her and said, “You do realize I can’t feel that.”

“Shut up, Bran,” Arya muttered.

“You two aren’t particularly subtle,” Jon noted dryly. “You might as well tell me or I’ll just keep asking.”

Arya sighed. “About three years ago I came home after work with my friend Gendry. He works at Sandor’s too.”

“Sandor?” Jon remembered Sansa calling that big hulking giant with the scarred face that had almost started a fight with Tormund at the café today that name. 

“Yeah, my boss. I work at his garage.”

“I met him today at Sansa’s café. He thought I had done something to upset her and was not happy with me.”

It was more of a grimace than a grin Arya gave him. “Yeah, he’s had the hots for Sansa ever since he met her.”

Jon stared at her. The man had to be twice her age and he was, well, not what he would imagine for Sansa. “You’ve got, she’s not-?”

“No! I mean, yeah, he has a crush on her and Sansa is nice to him, but it’s one of those afar type of thing. He’s an okay guy. Better than that bastard Baelish.”

“Okay, getting back to him. What happened three years ago?”

“Anyway, as I was saying I came home with Gendry one day. We were a little early because it was slow at the garage that day. We came in and heard yelling from the kitchen. We could hear Sansa screaming, ‘Get off of me!’ ‘Let me go!’ Well, we ran in there and we see Baelish has her backed into a corner, against a counter, pawing at her and she’s trying to fight him off. You don’t know Gendry, but he’s huge. A really big guy. He ran forward, yanked Baelish off of Sansa and began to pound him. I was happy to let him continue but Sansa pulled him off, not because she was worried about Baelish, but she was afraid Gendry would get in trouble.”

“Did you guys call the police?” Jon was horrified.

Arya shook her head slowly and an expression that Jon couldn’t identify came over her face. “No. We were going to, but Baelish said it would be our word against his and Gendry already had a record. He would say that we set him up so Sansa could cry rape and exhort money from him. It was our word against his and no one would believe a twenty year old girl struggling to raise her brother and sister with no money.”

“And you let him get away with it?” Jon asked incredulously.

“Jon, he was right. It would be our word against his,” Arya snapped. “Gendry was looking at likely a prison sentence because of his previous record and Sansa just didn’t want to go through being dragged in the mud on the chance we could get him convicted.”  
Jon sank back into the couch. He could understand their reasons, but he didn’t like them, and he couldn’t shake the feeling there was something else to the story. However, from the stubborn set of Arya’s jaw he knew he was unlikely to get any more information at this point. “Has he bothered you since?”

Bran shook his head. “No. We’ve had to see him a few times over the years, but we always make sure we’re both there with Sansa and either Gendry or Sandor is with us. Actually, Sandor tends to freak him out more than Gendry.”

Jon smiled faintly at this but his blood was boiling that Baelish had gotten away with so much. Maybe there was something he could do to help. “You know, if you guys need money for an attorney to investigate what he did with the estate-“

Both Bran and Arya’s faces shuttered. “That’s nice of you, Jon, but we can handle it,” came Arya’s cool voice.

Jon looked at them with a startled expression. Why were they refusing his help? “You know I can afford it now. With the Targaryen money, I can help you guys out-“

“Jon,” Bran broke in gently. He gave a glance at a stone-faced Arya that Jon did not miss. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. It’s just two more years before Sansa can access her trust fund and at that point, we’ll be able to hire a lawyer and really find out if Baelish did anything. We’re fine.”

“But I want to help,” Jon protested.

“We don’t take charity,” Arya said stoutly, her chin tilting up slightly in pride.

Jon gaped at her in surprise and not a little hurt. “Arya, it’s not charity. You, all of you, the Starks, you were my family. Are my family. I just want to help.”

Arya’s expression softened a little. “I know, Jon, but really we don’t need it.” She glanced around the shabby house. “I know it’s not Winterfell, but it’s our home and we’ve done a good job of making it that. We’re doing fine on our own.”

Jon knew it was irrational, but her words stung. Arya and Bran weren’t rejecting him, just his offer of help, but yet, he couldn’t feel as if it was a rejection of him, as a person, in some way. And why not? He had been gone for over five years, not been there when they needed help. Forced into near poverty, preyed on by a predatory would-be rapist, why would they trust anyone at this point? They had survived by sticking together and only letting a few outsiders in, people like this Gendry. Jon had been gone too long. He would have to earn their trust back and when he did, he could then make the offer of help again.

Jon left a few minutes later with a promise to visit again soon. They had spent the evening talking about the Starks because Jon had so many questions that he hadn’t really said much about himself and both Arya and Bran were curious about his newly discovered Targaryen roots. Before he left, he paused in the doorway of the front door and frowned into the night. It was almost 11 pm.

“Shouldn’t Sansa be home by now?” he asked Arya.

Arya frowned and glanced at the clock. “It is a little late, but they sometimes have some late stragglers that just won’t hurry up so they can’t close.” Jon could tell she was a little uneasy by her sister’s absence. “I’ll give her a few minutes and if she’s not home, I’ll call her cell.”

Jon nodded and said goodnight. He got in his car and absently started it and began to drive home. He was still mulling over the details of his evening when about three miles from the Stark house, he saw a figure walking on the sidewalk. A flash of copper was caught in his headlights and he braked sharply. He saw the figure start and pause to regard him warily as he rolled down the passenger side window.

“Sansa?”

“Jon?” The figure came cautiously towards the car and peered in. He saw a pair of bright blue eyes and a pale face. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m coming from your place. I had dinner with Arya and Bran. What are you doing walking alone at this time of night?” Jon couldn’t keep slight note of anger and anxiety out of his voice. 

Sansa sighed. “My car broke down about two miles back and my cell phone is dead. I’m walking home.”

“Alone?! In this cold and in this neighborhood?!” He leaned over to open the passenger door. “Get in. I’m driving you home.” Belatedly, he realized he was using his “Captain Snow” voice, but the realization she had been walking in a neighborhood he felt might be sketchy, a young woman, alone on a cold night, fear and anxiety made him speak brusquely.

Sansa stared at him incredulously. He wasn’t offering her a ride, he was actually ordering her! She almost slammed the door and said no thank you, but she had a long way to go, she was tired and cold. She could put up with Jon and the short ride back to her house.

Reluctantly, Sansa got into the car and sat stiffly in the seat as Jon did a neat U-Turn and headed back to the Stark house. Even for the short ride he turned up the heat in the car and adjusted the setting for the seat warmer in Sansa’s seat. He smothered a grin when he heard her give a little sigh as the seat warmers kicked in and she snuggled a little deeper into the luxurious leather seat.

“I’m sorry,” Jon said quietly. “I didn’t mean to sound like such a dictator, but I was just got caught off guard and was worried about you out there walking alone so late at night.”

Sansa relaxed her tense muscles and she defrosted in more ways than one. “Thank you. And thank you for the ride.” She gave him a wan smile as he glanced over at her. “I really wasn’t looking forward to walking the rest of the way.”

They arrived at the Stark house and Jon walked Sansa to the door. Before Sansa could go for her key, the front door was flung open by Arya. “There you are! Where have you been? I’ve been calling your cell!” She saw Jon standing behind Sansa. “Jon? What are you doing back?”

As they went into the house and Sansa wearily dropped onto the couch to take off her boots, she explained about her Jeep dying and her cell phone’s lack of power. “I’ll need to borrow your truck tomorrow. Can Gendry give you a ride to work or to the café so you can pick up the truck?”

Arya looked stricken. “Uh, I guess you didn’t notice the truck wasn’t parked in the drive. I had to lend Gendry the truck.”

“What? Why? Can he bring it back?”

Arya shook her head. “He borrowed it so he could drive to Harrenhal tonight to get a shipment of parts. Sandor took the garage’s truck on another run which is why Gendry had to borrow my truck. Sorry, Sans.”

Sansa sighed and flopped back into the couch. “I need to be at the cafe at 5 am tomorrow. That’s too early for the buses. I could call Mya, but on Saturdays she comes in at 7 am. I hate to get her there so early, especially because she has her son.”

Sansa and Arya went back and forth discussing the best option, but Sansa’s early start time was proving to be a difficult point to overcome and Jon could see neither sister felt like they could impose on anyone for a favor, especially one that had such an early time attached to it. He decided to make things easier for them.

“I’ll drive you to work tomorrow,” Jon interrupted them.

Sansa and Arya stared at him. “What? Jon, you don’t have to. I mean, it’s sweet of you, but I’m at work at 5 am which means I’ll need to leave around 4:30 am.”

“I heard you guys the first time. I don’t mind driving you,” Jon replied easily. “I don’t really sleep that much.” Which was true. He still found it difficult to sleep after his experiences in The Gift. “The military teaches you how to operate on little sleep. Please, it’s not a big deal.” And it wasn’t. If they wouldn’t accept his financial help, he could at least help them with something small and simple like giving Sansa a ride to work.

“That’s perfect!” Arya beamed at him. She turned to Sansa. “Right?”

Sansa didn’t look as enthusiastic, but she nodded. She gave Jon a small, tired smile. “Yes, thank you, Jon. But, it means you’ll be up again at 4 am just so you can get back here. I can’t have you driving back and forth like that.” She hesitated a moment. “If you want, you can stay here the night. We don’t have a guest room, but I can bunk with Arya and you can have my room.”

“That’s a great idea!” Arya exclaimed.

“Sansa, I can’t deprive you of your bed,” Jon protested. “I can sleep on the couch.”

“Trust me, this couch isn’t too comfortable. Remember? It’s the one from the game room at Winterfell.”

Jon grinned. “Hey, I remember falling asleep many a night on that couch. We’re old friends.”

“Yeah, well, it’s seen a few more years since then as have you. You probably won’t find it as comfortable as you think. No, its best if you take my bed. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

Jon wasn’t so sure about that as he settled between the sheets in Sansa’s queen size bed underneath a light blue down comforter. Her scent nearly overwhelmed him as it surrounded him and he felt a clenching in his gut and the urge to reach down his body to relieve an ache whose presence he didn’t understand. Yes, Sansa was beautiful, but he had known and met many beautiful women before. She shouldn’t be affecting him in this way. He had Ygritte. But even thinking about his girlfriend didn’t seem to bring him any relief and Jon rolled over onto his side, determined to fall asleep as he ignored the sweet scent of Sansa Stark.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the very kind comments. I was a little hesitant to do a Modern AU, afraid I might be losing too many of the elements that make up these characters, but I'm glad people are enjoying the efforts.

His dream began as it always did: in the snow.

He was running towards the helicopter; Edd to his right, Tormund running ahead of them, the soldiers of the White Walker terrorist group chasing them, firing in their direction. Pyp, Grenn and Satin had already gone down. His six-man team cut in half in what felt like a blink of an eye. If none of them make it out today, it would still be a victory. The Night King was dead. Jon himself had killed him with a bullet to his head and one to where his heart should be if such a vicious being had a heart. They all knew that the odds were high that none of them would survive the mission, but with the helicopter just a few hundred yards away, Jon had started to hope.

Then Edd had cried out and stumbled, causing Jon to stutter to a stop and turn back to his fallen comrade, despite the other man telling him to run.

“Get your ass out of here, Commander!” Edd had bellowed even as he had started to fire behind them, momentarily making the enemy pause in their efforts.

“I don’t leave men behind!” Jon shouted back as he moved to help his second-in-command. With a glance he could see Edd had taken a bullet to his ankle and moved to help him up when Tormund was suddenly beside them.

Without a word, the larger man threw Edd over his shoulder as Jon turned and began to lay cover fire, allowing the others to run to the waiting helicopter as he slowly backed up towards it.

Then it happened. His gun jammed and in that brief moment as he worked to fix it, he felt the first bullet hit him in his chest. The force of it took his breath away, but the armor vest had caught it and while it would leave a nasty bruise, he wasn’t hurt. But he wasn’t so lucky with the second bullet which caught him in his left thigh and made him buckle. Then some bright fellow thought to load his weapon with armor piercing bullets and the next series pierced his protective armor like a hot knife through butter.

The first bullet that entered his chest didn’t hurt. Adrenaline and surprise was an anesthetic to it, but the second, third and fourth bullets sliced through him, robbing him of his breath with a swath of pain. Jon fell backwards and he felt the snow cushion his fall. He stared up into the gray sky, watching the lazy fall of snowflakes that dotted his eyelashes. He could feel his warm blood slipping out of his wounds and mingle with the dirty snow beneath him.

Memories filled his mind at that moment. He and Robb swimming in the hot springs at Winterfell; Bran staring down at him from yet another tall tree he had climbed; Arya swinging a stick like a sword as she challenged him to a duel; little Rickon tugging at his hand, Ned and Cat smiling at their brood and him from the steps of Winterfell; and Sansa sitting on a bench, singing softly to herself as she brushed her hair.

In his previous dreams he dies at this point and Jon would wake up in a cold sweat, clutching at his chest and gasping for air. But that did not happen this time. The pain he felt from his wounds was gone and suddenly, he was staring up into a blue sky occasionally blocked out by the waving red leaves of a Weirwood tree. He was lying on soft, green grass.

“Jon! Come on, Jon!”

He couldn’t make out whose voice that was. He knew it was familiar, but he couldn’t tell if it was male or female. Jon pushed himself up into a sitting position and touched his chest. He was no longer in his fatigues and armor, his wounds were gone. He was in a simple t-shirt and jeans, his feet in soft, leather boots.

“Come on, Jon!”

That voice again. He rose to his feet and they somehow knew where to go and he was slipping through a forest that he knew: the Godswoods of Winterfell. A shadowy figure was ahead of him, weaving through the trees, leading him somewhere.

Even as he ran effortlessly after the figure, Jon looked up and around him. The sky peeked through the rustling leaves of the trees. Dappled sunlight flickered on his skin as he moved closer and closer to the shadowy figure leading him somewhere. The shadows of the leaves painted soft tattoos of ever shifting patterns over his skin.

As he drew closer, he saw a flash of copper and milky skin and he knew, even before she turned her head to look at him, laughing merrily, her blue eyes sparkling.

“It’s time you come home, Jon Snow,” he heard her say.

“Sansa,” Jon whispered as his hand reached out to touch her.

“Come home, Jon,” he heard her say to him in the softest, gentlest voice.

He could feel himself reaching out to her, his finger tips about to brush against the silk of her hair.

“Jon? Jon, wake up. It’s time to get up.”

Jon felt a hand gently shake up and he peered up in the dim light into Sansa’s face. For a moment, he was disoriented, not remembering where he was before it came back to him. He was in Sansa’s bed. His face colored at the thought, inexplicably embarrassed that he had thought that sentence. He saw her peer curiously at him, but she only said, “I left some clean towels in the bathroom if you want to shower before you drop me off at work. We have about a half hour before we have to go.”

Right, he was giving Sansa a ride to work and while he spent the night in her bed, he did not spend it with her. Jon nodded, pushing himself up and realized Sansa had turned on a small lamp in the corner that cast the room in a soft light. The clock on her night stand said 4:15 am. She had said she needed to be at the café at 5 am. Jon could see she had already showered and was in her robe with a towel wrapped around her hair. He realized then that she likely needed him out of the room to change and he blushed again, realizing that underneath the thick, light blue terry cloth robe, she was likely naked.

“I won’t be long,” Jon muttered as he slid out of her warm bed to pad his way to the bathroom. He switched on the light to the small bathroom that was still slightly steamy from Sansa’s shower. He saw a set of snowy white towels on the counter with a brand new toothbrush still in its plastic wrapper on top of it. The sight of it made him smile slightly. Any child of Catelyn Stark would be prepared for unexpected guests. 

Jon glanced in the mirror above the sink and examined his face closely. Mornings he usually found a bleary-eyed, tired man staring back at him, having gotten less sleep than he really needed. The dreams often allowed him only four or five hours of sleep on a good night. Jon had refused to take the sleeping pills prescribed to him, not liking how sluggish and slow they made him feel the next day. However, while the amount of sleep he’d gotten wasn’t more than usual, for some reason he looked more rested than he had in long time. Maybe it was the dinner he had last night. Despite the horrible things he heard the Starks go through, he found he couldn’t stop eating the delicious meal he had been served. Or maybe for once, he was someplace where no one had wanted or expected anything from him. Whatever it was, the face Jon found staring back at him seemed less tired, more relaxed.

Fifteen minutes later he was walking into the kitchen, his hair pulled back from his freshly scrubbed face. Sansa turned from the coffeemaker at his approach and handed him a blue travel tumbler. “I hope you don’t mind not having breakfast until we get to the café? I don’t normally eat breakfast until the morning prep work is done. But I’ve got coffee if you want it.”

Jon took the tumbler from her hands and flipped the lid open. “No problem. I’m still a bit full from dinner last night, but coffee will never be turned down.” He took a sip and closed his eyes, savoring the taste of it. It was the same coffee from the café which was the best he had ever tasted, even better than the expensive brand used in the Targaryen household. It was also prepared perfectly for him, black with one sugar. “How did you know how I took my coffee?” he asked curiously.

Sansa was finishing filling her own tumbler and then resetting the coffeemaker to brew another pot for Arya and Bran. “Hmmm? Oh, noticed it yesterday at the café. You pick up those things quickly in waitressing.” She finished what she was doing and looked up at him. Her brow furrowed. “Jon?”

He hadn’t realized it, but his face had fallen into a sad expression, remembering why Sansa was in a position to having to waitress, to get up so early and work so hard just to keep what was left of her family together. But Jon also knew that pity was the last thing Sansa probably wanted so he quickly wiped the look from his face and gave her a small smile. “Just zoned out a moment. Caffeine hasn’t quite hit the brain yet.” He took another sip of the delicious brew.

Sansa nodded and then a few minutes later they were in Jon’s car, driving down the darkened streets towards the Hghgarden Café. A few miles into their trip, they passed by Sansa’s broken down Jeep, the sight of it causing her to let out a small sigh.

“What are you going to do about that?” Jon asked with a nod towards the forlorn vehicle.

Sansa sighed again. “Hopefully, it’s something Arya can fix. If not…” Her voice trailed off and Jon could see her worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. 

He knew money was an issue and a new car, even a used one, would be a significant purchase. He was about to offer his help but remembered Arya’s reaction to his attempts at doing so and knew it likely would be even less welcomed by Sansa. He would have to get creative if he wanted to provide any type of assistance to the Starks.

“If not?” he prompted.

Sansa sighed more loudly this time. “We really need two cars, so we’ll just have to buy another one if we can’t salvage my jeep. I don’t only need it for work, but we need a vehicle for Bran to get around in. Arya’s truck is too hard for him to get in and out of and the disabled transit service offered by the city only does so much.”

“I’m happy to go car shopping with you, if it comes to that,” Jon replied nonchalantly. “I’m pretty knowledgeable about cars.”

Sansa threw him an amused look. “I’m not sure you know more than Arya.”

Jon chuckled. “True. I can’t believe she’s working in a garage.”

Sansa let out a soft laugh that made Jon grin. It was good to hear her laugh. “I know, but then again, it seems so…Arya too. She’s happy about it though and Sandor, you met him yesterday in the café, is actually a pretty good boss. And her friend Gendry works there too.”

“So, this Gendry, any…romance there?”

Sansa laughed again. “I think he hopes there will be, but Arya is allegedly oblivious so far. I say allegedly because I think she wants to be more than friends, but hasn’t made that step yet.”

“Why not?” Jon asked. 

The soft, amused look left Sansa’s face and she turned her head to look out the window, but Jon could see her face in the reflection on the glass. She looked so tired and sad. “Maybe because she’s seen some bad examples of relationships and it’s made her gun shy.”

Jon decided not to push her for answers and the rest of the ride was made in silence until they got to Flea Bottom and Sansa directed him through a twist of streets that led to the back of the café which was much less picturesque than the cobbled street version in the front. He parked in the small lot in the back and then followed Sansa as she unlocked the back door and went into the kitchen of the café. 

In movements that spoke of routine, one hand went out to flick on the lights and she hurried forward towards a panel that was near a small desk that was nestled in an alcove by a pantry. Jon watched as she punched in a code to turn off the alarm before it was triggered and she went to hang up her jacket flipping on various lights and equipment as she moved.

Jon stood off to the side, watching her practiced movements, moving with a dancer’s grace. In the early morning light that came filtering in from high, small rectangular windows, the kitchen looked much different than it did yesterday. It seemed cold and unfriendly, almost sterile with the gleaming equipment and prep table, the shiny hardware, and the pristineness of the floors and counters. He could have excused himself and simply gone home now that Sansa was here, but Jon found himself reluctant to leave her just yet. His mind cited concerns about her safety, a woman alone in the early morning hours at a business. But Sansa had been doing this for years and he had watched her lock the heavy door behind her when they entered. No, Jon simply didn’t want to leave her yet and return to either an empty bed or a passed out Ygritte.

She sent him a curious look. “I hope you don’t mind if I don’t give you breakfast until I’ve got the prep work underway?”

Jon held up his half full tumbler. “Got coffee. I’m fine.”

She gave him a small smile and then simply ignored him as she concentrated on what needed to be done. Jon settled himself down in the chair he sat in yesterday for lunch and watched Sansa busy herself with making bread, cookies, pies and other things that Jon knew would eventually turn into delicious things to eat.

When they had entered the kitchen, it seemed cold and almost sterile, but it gradually warmed up with the heating ovens and the enticing smells that came from the food Sansa began to prepare. The empty tables and counters began to fill with assorted foodstuff as Sansa worked and she, herself, seemed to breathe life into the room with her copper hair and vivid blue eyes. The room began to feel almost cozy, like a kitchen in a home but just larger. “What are you making?” he asked after almost an hour of companionable silence.

“Individual breakfast quiches,” Sansa replied as she stood at a stove, frying bacon. “They’re a pretty good seller.”

Jon sniffed the air appreciatively. “Bacon in anything is guaranteed to sell,” he agreed.

Sansa sent him an amused look. She drained the bacon she was frying and moved over to some that she had fried earlier and left to drain. She took those pieces and crumbled them into a mixture that was then poured into small pie shells. In one she added an extra amount of bacon and a handful more cheese before she slid the prepared shells into the oven and set the time for thirty minutes.

“I remembered how much you liked bacon,” Sansa said to him with a nod towards the oven. “That one with the extra bacon and cheese is your breakfast.”

While he appreciated the thought, Jon looked skeptically at her. “Quiche?”

Sansa let out a low laugh. “Yes, even big military heroes can have quiche for breakfast. Try it and if you don’t like it, I’ll make you plain old eggs and bacon instead.”

The cook at Rhaegar’s mansion would prepare anything Jon asked for, but he didn’t feel the same sense of pleased warmth that spread in his chest knowing that Sansa was making something special for him based upon her memories she had of his love for bacon. The cook had to make what Jon wanted because that was his job. Sansa did it because she wanted to. It made all the difference to Jon.

He refilled his tumbler with more coffee and asked Sansa about it. 

“It’s from a small farmer in Dorne. Margery and I must have tasted thirty different brands before we settled on this independent vendor. We’ve found anyone who’s had this coffee really can’t drink any other brand,” Sansa explained as she hand kneaded bread. 

“I’d love to buy some for Rhaegar’s,” Jon said before he savored another sip. He saw Sansa pause and stare at him contemplatively, the first time she’s really stopped since they got to the café. “What?” He touched his beard. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No…” Sansa paused and began to knead the bread again, a small frown on her face. She shook her head. “It’s none of my business.”

Jon didn’t know what she wanted to say, but sensed this was an opportunity to maybe get more out of Sansa other than polite conversation about coffee. A former commanding officer of his who had helped prep him for his mission had once said that when you’re undercover, you had to give a little of yourself to get someone to trust you. If he wanted to help Sansa and the other Starks, he was going to have to earn their trust.

“No, go ahead. I don’t mind.”

He watched as Sansa hesitated a moment before she said quietly, “You called it ‘Rhaegar’s’, not ‘home.’”

Jon blinked at her. So he did. Jon rubbed the back of his neck. “Huh, yeah, I guess I did.” He took another sip of coffee. “I guess it’s because it doesn’t feel like a home to me. Just a place I’m living in for now.” He watched as Sansa began to hand shape loaves. “I really hadn’t realized I felt like that.”

“It must be difficult, adjusting to now having a father when he’s been gone from your life,” Sansa murmured. “How are you doing? I mean, there have been so many changes for you and, well, we all read that you were pretty badly injured during your mission.”

The scars still marked his body and though they were healed, it was almost as though Jon could feel the hot sear of the bullets still. He shrugged non-committedly. “Like you said, it’s been an adjustment.” He blew out a loud breath. “It is weird. All my life the only father I felt I had was yours, Ned.” He was relieved when he didn’t see Sansa flinch or look sad. “But now I not only have my father, but he’s Rhaegar Targaryen, the richest man in Westeros, making me-“

“Second richest?” Sansa gently teased with a saucy grin as she turned away from the rising drawer where she had slipped in the prepared loaves of bread. The smile dropped as she said softly. “You know, you don’t have to change who you are because of them.”

“What?” Jon gave her a startled look. “What do you mean?”

Sansa bit her lower lip and his eyes automatically were drawn to it. Jon felt a small flicker in his gut, but ignored it, more interested in her comment.

“I also read that you’re going to be taking over some of the duties at Targaryen Industries. It’s just that well, I’ve just never seen you doing a desk job, you know. I’m sure that Rhaegar probably has expectations of you and well, I’m just saying you don’t have to do what he wants. Just do what you want to do. You shouldn’t have to compromise who you are and what you want just because the Targaryens expect you to.” Sansa was flushing a bright red at the end of her stumbling speech and she began to fiddle with the edge of her apron.

Jon stared at Sansa with wide eyes. Ever since Rhaegar came into his life everyone, even Edd and Tormund, have said how lucky he was having a rich father who wanted to give him everything, making him feel like there was something wrong with him or he was simply ungrateful for having doubts and even resentments over having his life taken over from him. But here was someone else telling him he wasn’t crazy or foolish to feel what he was feeling. That not wanting the burden of being Jon Targaryen wasn’t worth losing who Jon Snow was.

“No one has ever said something like that to me,” Jon croaked.

He didn’t think it was possible, but Sansa turned even redder. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m stupid or overstepping myself. I shouldn’t have butted in-“

“No!” Jon got up from his chair and in three strides was beside her, gently putting a hand over the wrist of one of her hands that was worrying her apron into a balled up knot. He was pleased when she didn’t flinch from him but instead looked into his eyes. “I just meant that everyone keeps telling me what a lucky bastard,” he snorted out the last word, “I am for having a rich father come into my life and make all my worries go away.”

“But they don’t,” Sansa nodded understandingly. “It just gives you other types of complications and worries.” Tentatively she reached out to touch his hand that was over her wrist. “Jon, you don’t have to be what they want, just be you.” She gave him a small smile. “The Jon Snow I knew at Winterfell.”

Jon stared into her blue eyes and that small flicker in his gut seemed to spread and grow into something else, a warmth that filled his body that filled the dark void inside of him that he didn’t realize was there. “I didn’t think you noticed me much when we were at Winterfell,” he murmured. 

“We may not have been close, but even I could see what a nice guy you were.” Sansa withdrew her hands and took a step back, a dark look descending on her face as she turned back to her work table. “Trust me, I know what a commodity nice guys are. They’re a rare bird these days.”

Her words were like a bucket of ice water on the warmth that had been steadily growing inside of him. Sansa had a story that he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear, but when she was ready to tell him, he would listen. He didn’t reach out to touch her, instead slipping his hands into his jeans pockets to stop him from that. Sansa looked at him, grateful he wasn’t trying to force himself into her space.

“Jon Snow is a pretty good guy. I don’t think he needs to change himself for his father or anyone else.”

Jon Snow gave her a small smile and could only say, “Thank you, Sansa.”

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Holding her high heels with one hand and the other against the bannister of the curving staircase to help steady her, Ygritte hurried up the steps to her bedroom, hoping to avoid any servants or more importantly Jon or the Targaryens. Unfortunately for her, as she rounded a corner, Dany was just walking from the other direction and they nearly collided.

The petite blonde raised a judgmental eyebrow at the other woman, taking in her disheveled appearance and clearly the dress she had on the night before.

“Rather a late night, considering it’s six in the morning,” Dany said. Her eyes latched onto a bruise just visible over the low neckline of Ygritte’s dress. A small, nasty smile spread over her face. “Had an interesting night?”

Ygritte glanced down at where Dany was looking and swore internally as she tried to tug the dress up to hide the bruise. She tried to bluff her way out of things and drew herself haughtily up. “Jon can party with the best of them.”

Dany smirked. “Try again. Jon had dinner with the Starks last night and stayed over so he could help one of them out this morning. You weren’t with Jon, so who gave you that lovely souvenir?”

“None of your business!’ Ygritte snapped. She pushed past Dany. “And if you say anything to Jon, you’ll regret it!” She stomped down the hallway towards her room accompanied by Dany’s laugh.

Later in the shower, Ygritte took an inventory of her body. Besides the bruise above her breast, there were a few marks along her thighs where he had gripped her tightly as he roughly pounded into her when he bent her over the table. She felt a low throb between her legs as she remembered the sex she had last night. It had been so long since she and Jon had made love, the atmosphere in the Targaryen mansion doing everything but putting Ygritte in the mood, that when Ramsey Bolton, proprietor of the night club she went to last night, approached her and began to flirt, she had been more than willing, especially considering the amount of alcohol she had consumed.

However, she wasn’t so drunk that when he tried to get too rough she had hit him, flipped him onto his back and snarled, “I like it rough, but don’t think you can mess with me like you can with some stupid college girl.” She had proceeded to rake her nails down his chest hard enough to draw blood and rode his cock hard and fast, making the bastard howl in pleasure, enjoying her rough treatment as much as he enjoyed delivering it. The rest of the night was a blur of rough sex, more alcohol and commands that he not leave marks since she had to go back to Jon. So much for not leaving marks.

Ygritte leaned her forehead against the wet tile of the shower, allowing the water to pour down her body, a part of her hoping it would wash away the disgust she was feeling for herself. What was she doing? Jon was a sweet guy she thought she had fallen in love with in The Gift, so much so she had forgiven him for lying to her when he revealed he was using her as a cover and believed him when he said he loved her too and wanted her in Kings Landing with him. Maybe they could have been happy if Rhaegar hadn’t come into their lives, but he was here along with his bitch sister Daenerys who looked at Jon in a way no aunt should be looking at her nephew.

And Jon, who was always a bit moody before seemed even worse now. Shouldn’t he be happy? He had her and he had a rich man wanting to give him the world. What did Jon have to complain about? Why couldn’t he just enjoy the ride?

Ygritte shut off the water and stepped out of shower, wrapping herself in a large, luxurious towel. She swiped at the steam on the mirror and stared at herself. Without her makeup, she could see the dark circles under her eyes and the sunken cheeks. Life was always hard in The Gift, but she never looked this tired and worn out, despite the better food and the luxuries she had access to now.

Her hands gripped the edge of the sink and she lowered her head. Maybe Jon wasn’t the only one unhappy with his life right now.

*/*/*/*/*

Sansa eyed Jon in amusement as he finished off his second personal quiche, a vegetarian version this time. He swallowed the last morsel and sighed in satisfaction, gently patting his flat, but full stomach. “I’m going to have to start working out more if I keep eating your cooking. Between the lunch yesterday, the dinner last night and now, I must have gained five pounds.”

“Yes, I noticed this morning the lack of leftovers in the refrigerator,” Sansa noted wryly.

Jon blushed, realizing that he may have eaten Sansa’s share of the mac and cheese with his unexpected appearance at dinner last night. He started to apologize, but Sansa merely laughed and waved off this apologies. 

“I always have my dinner during my break at Taylor’s. If anything, you prevented Arya and Bran from over-stuffing themselves. I swear, they’re both bottomless pits.”

Her mention of her seasonal job sobered Jon instantly. He still had a lot of questions regarding what had happened to the Starks over the last few years. He didn’t believe for a moment that Bran and Arya had told him everything last night. Sansa was an almost unknown entity to him and given the fact that she hadn’t even bothered to give him her cell phone number when she had so willingly provided her siblings’, he knew it would be harder to convince her to open up to him.

Jon would have to earn her trust, and given what he had heard last night, he didn’t blame her for her wariness. They were silent for a few minutes as Sansa cut out cookies in assorted holiday shapes and placed them on a baking sheet.

“You were always a good baker, but I never imagined you working in a café,” Jon suddenly blurted out. He flushed red as he saw Sansa hesitate a moment. He could feel wariness creep over her entire body as she resumed her work.

“Oh? I thought Arya and Bran explained all of that,” Sansa replied easily and in measured tones, but Jon could sense she didn’t really want to talk about what happened. “There wasn’t much money left except in trusts we couldn’t access. I was only eighteen and not a lot of work experience. Margery was starting the café and it seemed like the solution to our problem.”

Yes, that was the story that Arya and Bran told him last night, but Jon knew it wasn’t the entire story. Granted, he didn’t want to upset or fight with Sansa, but Jon needed to know about everything and every detail. Maybe it was the military training in him that made him want to know every scrap of information before going into a dangerous territory.

And he was wading into dangerous waters here.

“They did,” Jon began gently. He paused. “They also told me what Peter Baelish tried to do to you. Why didn’t you press charges against him, Sansa?”

“Arya explained that to you too,” Sansa replied calmly with just the slightest hard edge to her voice. Sansa knew her sister had given Jon the explanation they all agreed upon when asked about that incident. Sansa had double checked with Arya last night when she was sleeping in her sister room and Jon slept in her own. Arya swore she didn’t tell Jon about anything else.

_“I think we can trust, Jon,” Arya argued. “And I’m over eighteen now. What can they do to us?”_

__

__

_“Bran is still underage and they’re still very powerful,” Sansa replied._

_“But they’ve kept their distance like he promised.”_

_“Only because we’ve kept our end of the deal and kept quiet. Did it occur to you that if we say anything to Jon we could put him in a bad position? Do you think after Jon hears what happened he’ll just let it go because we tell him to?”_

_“No,” Arya grumbled. “But do you really think they could be more powerful than the Targaryens?”_

_“This isn’t his problem, Arya. Let’s just leave Jon out of it.”_

“I didn’t want to go through a trial.”

Jon watched silently as Sansa began to use a little more force in pressing the cutter down to pop out shapes of bells and candy canes. She was becoming more agitated and he wondered how far he could push her.

“So you let him get away with almost raping you?” Jon pressed. “What if he tried again? Or if he attacked someone else?”

Sansa paused in her work and glared at Jon. “Don’t you dare try to guilt me into anything, Jon Snow! I held this family together with no help from anyone, least of all you or any other man. I did what I had to make sure my family survived. If it doesn’t meet your high moral standards, then you can just walk right back out of our lives now!”

“I’m not judging you!” Jon exclaimed. Sansa took a tray of unbaked cookies to the oven and shoved them in, sharply pressing the timer next to the oven. As she started to walk by, Jon reached out to stop her. He gently grasped Sansa by the shoulders and turned her towards him. “I’m trying to understand why you didn’t press charges and get Baelish out of your lives forever.”

“Jon, I was twenty, accusing a powerful and respected attorney of attempted rape. Do you know what they do to rape victims in court? They try to dig up every disgusting and embarrassing detail of your life so it can be said out loud and for the record. They’ll protect the criminal’s information, but not the victim’s. I had just barely won custody of Bran and Arya. Now I was going to have to go to court and have my reputation dragged through the mud? I couldn’t guarantee the court wouldn’t change their mind and take them away from me. Arya hadn’t turned eighteen yet! Bran was just recovering! That’s how Baelish got away with it.” She shrugged off Jon’s hands and grabbed something from the refrigerator. She put it onto her work counter between two pieces of parchment paper. Jon realized it was a lump of butter. Sansa began pounding it into a flat disc with a wooden rolling pin. “We’d lost so much of our family already, I wasn’t going to risk losing the rest.”

“But now he’s still in your lives,” Jon replied, raising his voice over the whacks she made with her rolling pin.

Sansa stopped her movements and took a deep breath. “We try to limit contact as much as possible and have done a good job of it so far.” She sent him a tired, wry smile. “I know you’re just worried about us, Jon, but trust me, we’ve gotten quite good at handling Petyr Baelish.”

“It’s not fair. It’s not right,” Jon grumbled.

“No,” Sansa replied quietly as she folded some pastry around the flattened butter. She put the entire thing back into the refrigerator and began to wipe down her work space. “But then again, so little in life truly is.”

The warm kitchen became quiet and chillier after that. Jon wasn’t certain how he could get them back to that friendly footing from before. Several times he opened and closed his mouth to try to say something, but he couldn’t seem to find the right words. He lost his opportunity when the back door opened and one of the young women he saw yesterday came bustled into the kitchen. She stopped in surprise when she saw Jon.

“Jon, Mya Stone. Mya, Jon Snow. Mya is the assistant baker here and Jon is an old family friend,” Sansa said by way of introductions. “My car died last night. Jon gave me a lift this morning.”

“That early?” Mya squeaked in surprise. “Heck of a friend! It’s nice to meet you Captain Snow.”

“Jon,” he told her as he shook her hand. Mya’s presence ended any chance to speak more to Sansa, but he knew how to make his next opportunity happen. “So, I better get going. I’d like to get a bit more sleep and do some errands.”

“Yes, thank you again, Jon,” Sansa said she wiped her hands on a towel and started to escort him to the back door.

“So I’ll pick you up about 2:30?” Jon asked her as he paused at the door.

Sansa stopped and stared at him. “What?”

“That’s the time you leave here for the mall, right? For your job at Taylors?”

Sansa frowned. “Yeah, so?”

“So I’m giving you a ride.”

“Oh, no, Jon, I’m sure Arya-,”

“You can’t be certain she’ll have your car fixed or be able to give you a ride herself. Besides I need to go to the mall anyway.”

Sansa looked at him suspiciously. “What for?”

Jon looked her right in the eye and said, “I do have my own Christmas shopping to do, Sansa.”

“Oh,” Sansa blinked, not having a good response to that other than, “Uh, well, yeah, thank you, Jon. That’s very nice of you to drive me again.”

“Not a problem,” Jon replied cheerily. “Like I said, I have to go to the mall and do some shopping any way. I’ll see you later.” He smiled at her and left.

Mya came up to Sansa’s shoulder as they watched Jon get into this car and pull out of the parking lot.

“Would you look at that,” Mya breathed. “You’ve got Jon Fricking Snow acting as your chauffer!”

“Zip it, Mya,” Sansa said in an annoyed voice as she shut the back door. “He’s just a nice guy. He always has been.”

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the updates have been a bit quicker than usual recently because this past week I've been home nursing a very bad cold. I just want to warn you that I'll likely not be able to keep this pace up as I'm back at work on Monday and I've got a full travel schedule this month. I'll try to update when I can. Thank you for your patience and interest in this story. And you'll see when you read it, but yes, Jon can be kind of sneaky.

Jon felt more energized than tired as he bounded up the staircase to the spare bedroom that he had slowly been taking over. On his drive from the café, several ideas began to form in his mind. He knew the Starks would never accept any direct monetary help from him, but there was more than one way to help them out. He was eager to get them started. As he walked passed the room he had been sharing with Ygritte the door flew open and she stood there looking at him.

“Jon,” she called out as she shuffled out into the hallway. “Where have you been?” She was wearing a bulky turtleneck and jeans, her hair pulled back in a ponytail and her face scrubbed of any makeup. Jon hadn’t seen her like this since he found out he was a Targaryen. She looked like she did when he first met her back in The Gift.

Guilt immediately assailed Jon. Last night when he decided to stay at the Starks, he had just texted Tormund his whereabouts, not thinking to inform Ygritte where he was. And knowing Tormund, the big man wouldn’t have bothered to let his girlfriend where he was.

“Hi, Ygritte,” Jon came forward to kiss her on her cheek. “Sorry about that. I ran into the Starks yesterday and had dinner with them. It’s a long story, but the oldest, Sansa, had car trouble and needed to be at work early this morning so I stayed over their place so I could take her into work. I didn’t mean to worry you.” Though, as Jon looked at her, Ygritte didn’t seem to be worried. At least not about his whereabouts. Something was clearly bothering her though.

“I thought maybe we could, you know, get some breakfast?” Ygritte mumbled hesitantly. “It’s been a while since it was just the two of us.”

Jon felt a flash of annoyance. Last night he tried to have a meal with just the two of them, but she had been determined to go out. “Uh, I’ve already eaten. I think I just want to shower get a little bit of sleep. Maybe we could get lunch together?” Jon asked.

Though she tried to hide it, Jon could see she wasn’t happy. Jon sighed internally, but he was in no mood to apologize. He had things to do.

“Fine,” she snapped before she spun on her heel and back into the room, slamming the door shut after her.

Jon sighed loudly but decided it would be best to let her cool off before he tried talking to her. Instead he went into the spare bedroom and took a shower in the adjoining bathroom. He had clothes in the room as well as his laptop. After a shower and a change of fresh clothes, he fired up his laptop. For the next two hours he did some research and compiled a list. He looked at the piece of paper with a smirk of satisfaction. 

Oh yes, there was more than one way to help the Starks.

*/*/*/*/*

“Soooo,” Margery drawled out as she watched Sansa bustled around the kitchen. “Jon Snow.”

“He was here this morning too,” Mya piped up from where she was preparing a sandwich. “Drove her to work.”

“Reaaaa---llllly?” Only Margery could make that one word sound suggestive.

“Shouldn’t you be out front?” Sansa asked her in an irritated voice.

“Lunch crowd is mostly gone. Gilly can handle it,” Margery replied with an airy wave of her hand. “I want to hear more about Jon Snow.”

“There’s nothing much to say. Like I said, he’s an old family friend and we lost touch. He wanted to find us to pay his respects because he couldn’t attend my parents and brothers’ funerals. He’s really closer to Arya and Bran than me.”

“But he’s playing chauffer for Sansa,” Mya whispered loudly to Margery.

“Oh?” Margery’s eyes lit up.

“And he’s coming back to give her a ride to her job at the mall,” Mya sang out, ignoring Sansa’s glares.

“You have the son of the richest man in Westeros acting as your personal driver? Oh, and not to mention he’s a national hero. And you don’t think there’s anything significant in that?” Margery asked, an incredulous look on her face.

Sansa sighed. “Look, the reason Jon is doing this is out of guilt. When he was growing up, he lost his mom early and my parents took him in, saving him from foster care. He was my brother Robb’s best friend. He’s always viewed my family like his own. He feels terrible for not being there when they died. That’s all this is.”

Margery and Mya looked disappointed, but simply nodded their heads. As Mya turned back to her work Margery came up to Sansa. “You know, Sansa, just because of what happened before, doesn’t mean you should totally shut yourself off from trying again. You know, going out and finding love. You deserve to find someone nice, sweetie.”

Sansa sighed. This was a conversation she’s had often with Margery. Her friend meant well, but after her past experiences, Sansa was quite content with just working and looking after Bran and Arya. She gave her friend a smile. “I know, but Jon isn’t that person. Like I said, he’s just a friend and I’m sure he’ll always just see me as that annoying kid sister.”

“Or not,” Margery waggled her eyebrows. “I know a lot of men who find their best friend’s sister irresistible.”

“Speaking from experience?” Sansa asked in an amused voice.

“Of course, darling.”

“Sansa!” Gilly called out as she stepped into the kitchen. “Your friend from yesterday is here. The cute one!”

“Jon?” Sansa asked in surprise. She glanced at the clock. He was an hour early. 

“Oh, would you look at that. He’s early,” Margery smirked.

Sansa ignored her as she stepped out into the dining room where Jon was seated at a small table. He glanced up at Sansa with a smile when she approached.

“Jon! You’re early.”

“Yeah,” he replied sheepishly. “I actually was out doing some errands and got hungry so I thought I get some lunch before we go to the mall.”

Sansa laughed softly. She glanced around and saw a few of the patrons staring at Jon, recognizing him from the news. “Come on,” she said tilting her head towards the kitchen. “I’ll show you to your private table.”

Jon gave Margery and Mya a small wave as he walked through the kitchen to the small table in the corner. Mya only grinned back, but Margery sauntered over.

“Welcome back, Captain Snow!” she greeted cheerily. “It just seems you can’t keep away from our little establishment.”

“What can I say? I love your coffee,” Jon replied as Sansa set a full mug before him.

“Oh? Just the coffee?”

“The cannoli was good too.”

“I’m sure that’s not the only sweet and creamy thing you find attractive in our humble establishment.” Margery leaned in closer to Jon, her eyes shining with an unholy gleaming, forcing Jon to lean slightly back in his chair, away from her, with a slightly alarmed look on his face.

“There must be other things here that you find equally delectable? Tasty?” 

“Uh, the chowder was good?” Jon began hesitantly, not quite liking the look Margery was giving him and how she seemed to be leaning further and further into his personal space.

“Just the chowder? Nothing else here striking your fancy?” Margery took another step closer to Jon literally backing him up against the wall. He sent Sansa a panicked look.

“Margery,” Sansa warned her. “Leave him alone.”

“I’m just trying to determine what keeps Captain Snow coming…,” she drew out a long pause with a smirk and added, “back to our café. So we can promote it more and hopefully develop more loyal customers.” 

“Margery!” Gilly bellowed out from the doorway of the kitchen. “I need your help out front! A busload of tourists just came in.”

Margery let out a huff of annoyance but turned to go back out into the cafe. Jon stared after the woman with a perplexed but relieved look on his face.

“Uh, Sansa, she wasn’t like…flirting with me or anything, was she?”

Sansa turned to look at Jon who continued to look uncomfortable and nearly laughed out loud. “No, Jon. That’s just her way. But I’ll tell her to back off because she’s making a good customer nervous. Now, what do you feel like having for lunch?”

He gave her a shy smile. “Uh, anything you make is really good.”

“We’ve got tomato soup and grilled cheese today. I remember how much you liked that on cold afternoons. I’ll bring you a side of sweet potato fries too.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, Sansa.” He smiled at her as she nodded her head and spun around to prepare his order.

The late afternoon arrival of the tour bus kept Sansa and the rest of the Highgarden Café staff busy so Jon was able to eat his lunch and quietly observe them at their work. Very little talking went on between the women as they moved like a well-oiled machine to deal with the unexpected late afternoon rush. Gilly and Margery worked the front of the house as Sansa helped Mya prepare and cook the food. Jon watched as plates came back empty, a sign of satisfied customers. Despite how busy she was, Sansa always made sure to check in on Jon to see if he needed more coffee or wanted something else.

He never imagined Sansa Stark working in a café, but she was very good at it.

Two thirty was quickly approaching and knowing Sansa had been too busy to pay for his bill this time, Jon made his way out front and stopped Gilly, he was finding Margery somewhat frightening, to pay for his lunch.

“Making sure Sansa can’t beat you to it this time?” Gilly asked cheerfully as she rang him up.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Jon replied as he waved off the change Gilly tried to hand back to him. She looked at him in surprise.

“But it’s almost thirty dollars!” Jon had given her a fifty. “Sansa doesn’t take tips.”

“So, you take it or, maybe you and…Mya? Mya, can go get some drinks after work.”

Gilly shook her head. “Doesn’t work that way. I’m not taking money for work I didn’t do.” She suddenly smiled. “But, I know where it can go.” She leaned over the counter and stuck money in a jar Jon hadn’t noticed before. He looked at the sign next to it.

“Kings Landing Animal Shelter?”

“Each year we pick a charity during the holidays to raise money for. Actually quite a few businesses here do that. This year it’s the Animal Shelter. Sansa and Mya bake these animal shaped sugar cookies and all proceeds from those sales go to the Animal Shelter. We usually sell out in the morning, but people can also make a straight donation.”

“Well, allow me to contribute,” Jon replied as he pulled some bills from his wallet and dropped them into the jar.

“Ooohhhh, Sansa will like knowing you gave to her pet charity,” a voice purred in Jon’s ear.

He jumped slightly and looked warily at Margery who had managed to sneak up behind him. Margery was a pretty woman, but there was something about those light colored eyes that unnerved him. They reminded Jon of some bird of prey watching a helpless mouse just before it was about to pounce on it. “Er, just trying to help out.”

“Yes, Sansa said you’re all about helping out,” Margery trilled as Sansa came up behind her.

“Margery, leave the poor man alone,” Sansa sighed. “Jon? Are you ready?”

He saw Sansa had a large tote bag slung over her shoulder and her coat and scarf were already on. Jon nodded and followed Sansa out the door. He had parked in the back parking lot again and they were soon on their way to the mall.

“Did you talk to Arya today about your car?” Jon asked as he pulled out into traffic.

Sansa sighed. “Yes and the Jeep is dead. There’s no hope of resurrecting it unless I completely replace the engine and for what that’ll cost, even with every discount and free labor Arya throws in, it will still not be worth it. Which means we’ll need to get a new car.”

Jon itched to offer Sansa the funds to purchase that car, but knew it would be refused. However he had other ways of helping out. “When will you guys be going car shopping?”

“Tomorrow. It’s the one day of the week I have off so we’ll all go then. I have enough saved up that I can get something that can last me at least two years. I don’t need fancy, just something to get us around.”

“I can take you around to the dealerships tomorrow,” Jon volunteered.

“Oh, no, Jon, we can’t impose-“

“It’s no trouble at all,” Jon replied easily. “I’m not doing anything tomorrow and, you know, I like looking at cars.”

Sansa looked skeptically at him. “You enjoy spending hours in the cold looking at cars and then listening to haggling over one?”

“It’s a guy thing.”

Still Sansa hesitated to accept his offer, hearing Mya’s singsong voice in her head, “Jon Snow is chauffeuring Sansa around!” For just a brief moment, there was a small flutter of excitement, but she quickly quashed it. Jon was simply being nice.

“Well, if you’re going to do that for us, then the least I can do is offer you Sunday dinner. Turkey chili okay?”

Jon groaned. “Fat. I’m definitely going to get fat with your cooking. Homemade cornbread?”

Sansa snorted. “Of course.”

“Deal.”

Sansa directed Jon to a spot in the mall parking lot that was near Taylors. “It’s a bit of a hidden spot,” Sansa said as he pulled into a secluded corner where only a few other cars were parked. “It’s not too bad of a walk from the mall itself.”

Jon frowned. “It’s a bit isolated. You park here regularly?”

Sansa gave him an amused look. “Don’t worry, a couple of us walk out together so it’s not like I’m walking to my car at night by myself.”

Jon grunted, still not liking the location of the parking space but deciding not to argue about it now. He followed Sansa into Taylors. She turned and said she needed to change first. Jon said he would wait for her as he wanted her help with some of his shopping. She gave him a searching look but merely nodded and said she wouldn’t be long.

As Jon waited at least three sales people came up to offer their assistance, but Jon waved them off, saying he was already being helped. When the manager stopped by to personally escort him around, Jon declined, but did ask the man a few questions.

“Actually, I’m waiting for one of your seasonal workers to help me. Sansa Stark?”

“Ah yes, Miss Stark,” the man, a Mr. Cerwyn said, bobbing his head. “A delightful young woman. An excellent sales girl.”

Jon let the “girl” comment slide. “She’s a seasonal worker, isn’t she? I understand that Taylors has a very generous policy with their sales staff for the holiday season. They get a commission, no?”

The man looked at Jon in surprise. No customer had ever inquired about their holiday staff policies. In fact, their customers tend not to give the sales staff much thought unless a complaint was being made. 

“Well, yes. We at Taylors try to engage the best so we provide an added incentive to our workers for a job well done.”

“And how much is the commission?”

Normally, Cerwyn wouldn’t be answering such questions but this was Jon Snow, national hero and richer than the gods. “One percent of every sale, which I assure you is quite generous.”

Jon nodded, doing some quick calculations in his head. He thanked the man who was then called away by someone else. Sansa was back in a few minutes later, dressed this time in a soft, green wool dress with an intricate design of wolves embroidered around the neckline. Black tights and black ankle boots completed her outfit. Her red hair was brushed neatly back into a braid that trailed over her shoulder. She had swiped just a bit of lip gloss over her mouth, but the transformation from the Sansa at the café to this demure, lovely woman had Jon staring rudely at her.

“What? Is something wrong with how I look?” Sansa asked worriedly as her hands smoothed over her dress.

“Uh, no, uhm, that’s a pretty dress,” Jon stammered.

“Oh, thank you. I made it myself. Do you like it?”

“Uh, yeah, I like the wolf bit,” Jon continued to stammer and mentally slapped himself. However, Sansa looked pleased and this time Jon mentally patted himself on the back for coming up with a compliment that made her smile.

“So, what exactly are you looking for?” Sansa asked, briskly getting down to business. 

“To be honest, I’m not sure,” Jon said sheepishly to her. “I’ve spent time with Rhaegar and Dany, but I’m not exactly certain what to get them.”

“Hobbies? Interests?”

“Uhmm,” Jon scrambled to think of what exactly his father and aunt were interested in and he gave Sansa another sheepish look.

“Jon, you have tried to get to know them a bit better, right?” she asked gently.

“Well,” Jon began as he rubbed the back of his neck. “A lot of the time we talk about me. I know that sounds vain and self-centered, but it’s because they’re always asking a lot of questions about me or they’re talking about business.”

“But surely, you’ve asked them questions?”

“Not about what they might be interested in. Just background stuff. Like what they were doing when I was growing up. And in my defense, they haven’t asked me about my hobbies or interests, either.” That last part didn’t make Jon feel any better, it just made him realize how little progress had been made in building a relationship with the Targaryens. For a moment, Jon felt incredible guilt for criticizing Ygritte for not trying to get to know Rhaegar and Dany better and realizing, he hadn’t done much to do so himself.

Sansa saw his distress and reached out to touch his arm. “Jon? It’s okay. You’re still adjusting.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “But you’re also pretty observant. You always have been. I’m sure you’ve noticed something about them, some interest?”

“Well, Dany likes riding every morning.” Jon frowned. “And they’re both crazy about Targaryen family history. And Rhaegar likes music. Plays the harp of all things.”

Sansa smiled gently at him. “Well, for someone who said he didn’t know much about his aunt and father, you actually seem to know quite a bit. The nice thing about Taylors, you can practically get anything here, it’s just crazy expensive. Come on, let’s see what we can find.”

Sansa was very good at her job and Taylors did have practically anything Jon could imagine for sale. They settled on a new riding outfit for Dany, Taylors had her measurements on file so sizing was no problem. He also bought a saddle and bridle. In the music department, they found a limited leather bound edition of traditional songs written for the harp. In the book department, they found a book on the Targaryens and in the art department, a rare set of miniatures depicting some of the great Targaryen rulers.

“Perfect!” Jon beamed as the miniatures were being rung up. “Rhaegar and Dany were the hardest to buy for.”

“Oh? You have more shopping to do here?” Sansa inquired in surprise. Jon had already spent a considerable amount of money. In fact, she was going to receive a nice commission from these few purchases alone.

“Yeah, I’ve got to get some stuff for Ygritte and Tormund and a couple of other folks.”

Sansa nodded, not mentioning that his girlfriend had stormed through the store the day before and seemed to find the selection lacking. She didn’t think Taylors was quite the store for her but she had only interacted with her for an hour or two. Jon obviously knew her better.

Though Sansa was revising that opinion as Jon went on a virtual shopping spree, almost seemingly picking things at random. He picked up over a dozen designer dresses for Ygritte and an equal number of men’s suits for his friends and himself. Jewelry, leather goods, housewares??? Each time Sansa asked who the gifts were for, Jon would name someone, so he obviously had a specific list in mind but he was spending a small fortune.

“What do you think?” Jon held up a dark green leather jacket that was neatly tailored and had a belt, giving it a slightly military look to it. It had a warm fur lining and a hood. It looked a little small though for Ygritte. 

“It’s very nice, but I think you’d want a larger size for your girlfriend.”

“It’s for Arya.”

“Jon, no, it’s far too expensive of a gift and Arya wouldn’t want to wear something that fancy. This is the girl who thinks the military surplus store is the height of fashion.”

“Sansa, this is my Christmas gift for Arya, so I appreciate your opinion, but if I decide to buy her an expensive gift, it’s none of your business.”

She let out an irritated huff, knowing he was absolutely right, but not having to like it. “Fine. It’s a lovely jacket and I actually think she would like it. But if you’re going to get Bran an expensive gift, your money is better spent at a computer store than here.”

Jon nodded. “Fair enough, though maybe a new winter coat wouldn’t hurt?”

“I can get him a winter coat,” Sansa snapped tersely, her hackles going up whenever she thought someone was criticizing her ability to provide for her family.

Jon paused and gently reached out to take her hand. “I know you can. What you’ve done these past five years is amazing, Sansa. I just want to give Bran a gift. That’s all. It’s not a criticism of how you’ve provided for your family.”

Jon was right. Sansa had to not take everything as a judgment or criticism of how she took care of her family. It was hard. Those first few years when both Arya and Bran were still under aged, it seemed a threat was around every corner, one false move and the authorities would swoop in and take her brother and sister from her for whatever reason: not having enough money for clothes or food or to heat the house or pay for Bran medical bills. Every gesture wasn’t a criticism, every gift a condemnation of her not being able to provide. It was hard to change old habits, but this was Jon. Jon who only wanted to give Bran and Arya some Christmas gifts because he loved them.

“I’m sorry, Jon,” she murmured. “It’s just, it’s just been the three of us for so long, that I find it hard to not see someone trying to help as having an ulterior motive.”

Jon began to make soothing circles with his thumb on the back of the hand that he held. “I understand, it’s been a tough road for you guys and you’ve been nothing short of incredible. But Sansa, these are just gifts I want to give Bran and Arya. That’s all.”

Sansa nodded and felt herself relax as Jon continued to rub soothing circles over the back of her hand. She wasn’t certain how long they stood there until she heard someone clearing her throat.

“Sansa?” They both turned to look at the speaker, Arianne who was looking curiously at them. “You’re overdue for your break and I don’t think you’ve eaten yet.”

At that moment, Sansa’s stomach decided to let out a low growl. She reddened immediately and withdrew her hand from Jon’s grasp. “Yeah, I better get something to eat. Jon, the restaurant here is pretty good if you want to go grab a bite.”

“Wait, where are you eating?”

“Oh, I brought something. I can just meet you back here in a half hour.”

“No, why don’t you join me?” Jon asked. “Look, you’ve fed me over the past day and a half, the least I can do is buy you dinner now, especially since I’m not done shopping.”

“Well, uh,” Sansa stammered as she looked over at Arianne who was looking very curious at this point.

“Oh, I think that sounds like a great idea,” Arianne replied. She started to push Sansa in the general direction of the elevators that would take them to the top floor where the restaurant was located. “They’ve got a great salmon. Top floor. Enjoy.”

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally, I'd rather gouge my eyes out than go car shopping, but I've found a lot of men I know tend to enjoy it for whatever reason.


	9. Chapter 9

A few minutes later, an eager hostess, who recognized Jon, had seated them in a booth by a window that overlooked the city. The winter sun had set long ago, but the night was lit up by the lights of the city providing a spectacular and festive view as holiday lights cut through the darkness providing them with a cheerful show. Following Arianne’s suggestion, they both ordered the salmon.

“I’m usually doing the cooking, so this is a bit of treat,” Sansa said as she took a sip of water and settled back into the well-padded seat.

Jon smiled. “Arya not much of a cook?”

“Oh God, no!” Sansa groaned. “The few times she’s tried, we’re lucky she didn’t burn down the kitchen. We have a very good division of duties at the Stark House. I do the grocery shopping and cooking. Arya does the yard work and maintaining of everything mechanical. Bran does laundry and any tech stuff needed. We split the cleaning duties. It works out very well.”

“You’ve got it down to a science,” Jon said admiringly.

“It wasn’t that way in the beginning,” Sansa sighed. She paused as the waitress brought them their dinners. When she left, Sansa picked up her fork. “There was a lot of trial and error involved, and well, things were difficult that first year. I think Arya and I fought more during that time than actually working together.”

“You two were always a bit like cats and dogs growing up,” Jon observed. He took a bite of the salmon. It was good, but he thought he preferred Sansa’s home cooking.

Sansa sighed again. “It was worse after the accident. And Bran was still in the hospital so he wasn’t even there as a buffer. She wasn’t happy with any of the decisions I made and I had to practically drag her to Kings Landing, but we had nowhere else to go.”  
Sansa remembered that argument well and some of the things they said each other still made her cringe.

_“I’m not going! First I lose my parents, my brothers and now you’re losing our home!” Arya screamed at her._

_“There’s nothing I can do about it!” Sansa yelled back. “We can’t pay for the mortgage! We have no money! All we have is that house in Kings Landing that Brynden left us.”_

_“It’s a lie! It’s all a lie! You’re just too stupid to find our money! You never wanted to live here anyway, always going on about moving to Kings Landing and going South! This is all you’ve ever wanted!”_

_“You’re blaming me? Look Arya, maybe you’re not old enough or mature enough to understand, but if there’s no money, we can’t keep a house that has a mortgage on it!”_

_“Stop talking to me like I’m stupid! God, I wished you’d died instead!”_

_Sansa could see Arya regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth, but it was too late, the wound had been inflicted and Sansa’s own instinct was to strike back._

_“Well, the only reason they’re dead is because they were going to see YOU play soccer. They wouldn’t have been on that damn road if it wasn’t for your game.”_

That had been the worst argument they had ever had and they didn’t speak to each other for nearly a week. It was finally a visit to Bran, who was still recovering in the Wintertown Hospital, that got them back at least on talking terms.

_“Kings Landing won’t be so bad,” Bran had said quietly. “My doctor has been telling me they have some of the best therapists there.”_

_Sansa had patted his hand. “We’ll get you the best help, Bran. No matter what it takes.”_

_Arya had merely grunted, but knowing that the move would help her brother eased some of her objections. That and even she had to admit that it was the only option available to them. They had no money and only Brynden’s small inheritance of a rundown house and a small annuity to keep them afloat._

“We never really talked about that fight,” Sansa said quietly. “We just didn’t mention it again.”

Jon wanted to reach out and pull Sansa into his arms. She looked so sad and vulnerable recounting that story that his own heart broke and his instinct was to comfort her. But she was talking of the past and the time to comfort her was back then, five years ago when he wasn’t around.

“You and Arya seem to get along very well now,” Jon said instead in a hesitant voice.

Sansa quirked a smile at him. “It was a bit rough going. One thing we always agreed on was that Bran’s recovery was the most important thing. I think having that common goal helped us in a lot of ways. Reduced the number of stupid arguments we probably would have had.” Sansa sighed again. “Once we stopped fighting, we actually found we could get a lot accomplished. Oh, we still argue now and then and I cannot get her to clean under her fingernails properly. But I’ll take her dirty fingernails over screaming at each other any day.”

Sansa glanced at her phone to check the time and motioned for the waitress to get their bill. “My break is up so I need to get back to work.”

“Right, more shopping,” Jon said as he grabbed the check. “My treat remember? Besides, I still need your help to finish up my shopping.”

Sansa looked curiously at him. “Jon, you’ve bought practically a small store already. Who else do you need to shop for?”

Jon let out a beleaguered sigh. “According to Rhaegar, a Targaryen must always remember to be gracious and generous during the holidays. It’s expected. So I’ve got staff both at TI and at Rhaegar’s to consider as well as some friends I do want to give gifts for.” He waved a hand as though overwhelmed and for a moment wondered if he was overselling his act. “Really, there’s so much. You’re doing me a huge favor, Sansa. I’m not the best shopper.”

Jon watched as Sansa leveled her blue eyes at him in a thoughtful gaze, and a trickle of unease made him think he had over-acted. Jon’s military training stopped him from squirming under her piercing look and he looked earnestly at her, praying she would not figure out his little shopping spree had been a ploy to ensure she had a healthy commission to help pay for a new car.

Finally, Sansa nodded. “Okay, well, we’d better get back to it then.”

They shopped until closing time. With a promise from the store that all of his purchases would be delivered the following day, they were finally done and Sansa was able to clock out as well. With Arianne, they walked to their cars in the back corner of the parking lot that made Jon still uneasy to think it was Sansa’s regular parking spot. After saying good night to the other women, Sansa slipped into Jon’s car and he drove her back home. 

“You must be exhausted,” Jon commented, noting it was after nine o’clock.

“The holidays are always a little more tiring, but that’s because of the Taylors job. The extra money has always helped,” Sansa replied as she stretched a little in her seat. “And with the car trouble this year, it’ll come in extra handy, especially since Bran wants to go to this fancy computer camp thing in the February.”

Jon looked inquiringly at Sansa and she explained about this young adult computer camp that would last two weeks and was held every year by some of the top IT companies in the world. Kids would get a chance to learn and work on special projects, and potentially be recruited as future employees by the company.

“It’s pretty selective so when Bran’s application was accepted, we knew we couldn’t pass up the opportunity,” Sansa continued.

“I wonder if TI is a part of it. It’s got a pretty extensive tech arm and R&D arm,” Jon commented.

Sansa shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Bran. I can’t remember all of the companies involved.”

Jon pulled up to the little Stark house and turned to Sansa. “Thank you for your help with the Christmas shopping, Sansa.”

She gave him a small smile. “You’re welcome. I should be thanking you. You know, I get a commission for every sale I make.”

“Really?” Jon looked innocently at her. “I didn’t know that. Well, I guess it worked out for everyone.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. Given how much money he had spent, Sansa had suspected Jon may have known about the commission side of her job, but she couldn’t figure out how he would know. He seemed to be surprised that she would be receiving a commission for tonight’s purchases.

“So, what time should I come by tomorrow to take you guys car shopping?” Jon asked brightly.

“Hmmm, why don’t we say 10 am,” Sansa replied. “It takes Arya and Bran a while to get moving on a Sunday.”

They said good night to each other and he made sure Sansa was safely indoors before he pulled away from the curb and drove home, a satisfied, smug smile on his face.

He was still in a self-congratulatory mood when he got back to Rhaegar’s and even when he was walking down the hallway, his feet automatically taking him to the spare room. The door to the room he had been sharing with Ygritte was flung open and she stood there glaring at him.

“It’s about time you got home!” she snarled. “Where have you been? We were supposed to have lunch together!”

Shit, Jon thought. He had been out doing errands and completely forgot about his arrangement with Ygritte. Instead, he wound up eating lunch at Sansa’s café.

“Ygritte, I’m sorry, I lost track of time,” Jon apologized as he stepped towards her.

“Doing what?” she asked suspiciously. “Were you with those Stark kids again? Look Jon, those brats aren’t your responsibility!”

Jon had been about to explain his whereabouts, but her unwarranted attack on the Starks put his back up. “They’re not brats! They’ve lost everything and I want to help them!”

“Oh, and of course it’s the perfect opportunity for them, a gravy train like you who has Rhaegar’s money.”

Jon flushed in anger. “It’s not that way. They’re not that way, Ygritte. Why can’t you understand that the Starks are family to me? I wasn’t there for them five years ago when they needed me, so I’m sure as hell going to be there for them now.”

“Oh boo hoo!” Ygritte sneered. “Poor little rich kids having it tough! They survived this long without you, Jon, and so have a lot of other people with no money. Look at me! I managed to survive. You don’t need to help out every orphan on the street.”

“They’re my family!”

“I’m your family! Pick one!”

Jon stilled and he stared coldly at her. “Are you asking me to choose between you and the Starks?”

The tone of his voice seemed to penetrate through Ygritte’s haze of anger. Jon could be a broody bastard, but one thing he was not was cold, or at least, she had never seen that side of him. But right now, as he stared at her, waiting for her answer, she saw a different side of Jon, the determined, maybe even ruthless man he could be when angered enough. A flicker of trepidation went through Ygritte and she realized it was perhaps best to retreat from what would have been a demand.

“Nnn-, no,” she stammered. She tried to smile and reached out to touch Jon’s arm, but he shifted slightly out of the way so her hand only touched air. “I’m just saying, that I wish we could spend more time together, baby.”

Jon continued to regard her coolly, her placating words sounding false to his ears. But he only nodded once, sharply and said in a frosty tone. “Good, because I’m not sure you would want to hear my answer, Ygritte. I agree, we need to spend more time together, but know that the Starks are an important part of my life and I will not walk away from them. I left them once, I’m not going to do that again. Do you understand?” When she nodded, he turned on his heel and began to walk away towards the other room. “I’m tired and I’m going to bed now. Have a good night, Ygritte.” He softly closed his bedroom door after him and she was left staring at its blank surface.

Ygritte’s face twisted into an ugly snarl and she whispered under her breath. “Those damn kids.”

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the get well wishes. I did get better just in time to go on a round of business trips for the last few weeks. For those who think business trips are glamorous, trust me, they're not unless you're a big named actor. But I'm back on solid ground and a hopefully lighter workload soon and maybe I'll be able to do parts more frequently. Fingers crossed! I'm glad some folks are enjoying this story. I hope you continue to like it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon takes the Stark car shopping, but he's still being sneaky.

“Bran! Arya! I swear if you two aren’t at the table eating breakfast in two minutes, I’m throwing it away!” Sansa yelled. 

“Geez, Sans, keep your panties on,” Arya grumbled as she stumbled into the kitchen, her hair and clothes disheveled. “It’s just, Jon.”

“Who is doing us a big favor by agreeing to go car shopping with us,” Sansa replied as she placed a stack of pancakes neatly onto Arya’s plate. “He’s doing all the driving and giving up his Sunday to do this. The least we can do is be ready when he gets here.” She eyed Arya’s rumpled clothes and sighed. “You could have made the effort to dress a bit more neatly.”

“Why? Again, I say this is Jon and I really don’t care what the car salesmen think about us,” Arya replied as she liberally doused her pancakes with syrup. She eyed Sansa’s outfit of jeans and a light blue, cashmere sweater that made her eyes bluer and that she knew her sister only saved for special occasions suspiciously. “Why are you so dressed up?”

“Because despite what you think, appearances do matter and maybe the salesmen will be more negotiable if they think we can truly afford a car and not look like we’ve rolled in from off the streets,” Sansa snapped back, though her cheeks pinked suspiciously.

Before Arya could quiz her sister further, Bran entered and Sansa was hastily providing him with his own stack of pancakes. “What dealerships are we hitting?” he asked after thanking Sansa.

Sansa had given her sister a general list of requirements she had for the new car and with Gendry’s help, Arya had scoured the various dealership websites and what they had in stock that would meet their requirements and budget. There weren’t many options, but they had a list of three possibilities. As they were going over the list, the doorbell rang and Sansa hastened to answer it. Bran and Arya could hear voices in the hallway that got louder the nearer they got to the kitchen. The two younger Starks looked up in surprise when a large, red haired man followed Jon and Sansa into the kitchen.

“Bran and Arya, I’d like you to meet my friend, Tormund,” Jon said as he introduced the two Starks to the big man. “He insisted on coming with us today.” Jon threw the other man an annoyed look.

“Pleased to meet you!” Tormund greeted, nearly crushing Bran’s hand in a hearty handshake. The young man looked slightly startled, but when he went to shake Arya’s hand, the petite woman narrowed her eyes and met Tormund’s firm grip with one of her own. Tormund’s eyebrows went up and his hand squeezed tighter. Arya grinned wolfishly at him and increased the strength of her grip.

The back and forth would have continued but Jon broke it up. “That’s enough you two. Tormund, stop screwing around.”

“Arya, finish your breakfast,” Sansa admonished. “Jon, Tormund, coffee and pancakes?”

“Oh, we couldn’t-,” Jon began, but Tormund simply pulled out an empty chair and sat down. “Smells good!”

Sansa chuckled as Jon sighed in exasperation. He gave her a soft smile of apology but she simply shook her head at him and pointed to the other empty chair. “Sit. Eat.” 

“Aren’t you-?” Jon began.

“Oh, I had breakfast hours ago,” Sansa replied as she hurriedly began to pour and then expertly flip pancakes. Arya had remembered some manners and got up to fetch mugs and coffee for their guests. Sansa placed several large pancakes on two plates and set one each before the two men. “Syrup, butter and berries are on the table. I have to finish pulling together the chili for when we get back.”

Arya and Bran, as soon as they found out Tormund had served with Jon, began to pepper the big man with questions about the military and whatever information he could give about their White Walker mission. Jon was content to remain quiet, enjoying his pancakes, nevermind both he and Tormund had eaten earlier, and watch Sansa as she moved easily through the kitchen, chopping vegetables and adding spices to something in a crock pot.

The bright chatter of the others became pleasant background noise as Jon watched Sansa’s lithe figure and he unconsciously found himself taking in her every feature. The soft curves of her body, the willowy length of her limbs, the way the sunlight from the kitchen window bathed her in a soft glow that turned her hair into molten copper and made her skin luminous. He watched as she caught her pink, plump bottom lip between her white teeth and the length of her long, dark lashes. He felt something stir within him, pleasant and familiar.

"Jon! Jon!"

He snapped out of his Sansa-induced haze to realize Arya had been calling his name and Tormund and Bran were regarding him with questioning eyes. Arya’s own eyes narrowed suspiciously but she only said, “I have a list of dealers we think might have something we’re looking for and in our price range.” She slid a piece of paper towards him.

Jon glanced at the list and nodded his head. He knew where all of these dealerships were located. “Shouldn’t be a big deal. Hopefully they’ll have something that works for you.”

They finished up their breakfast and Arya and Bran cleared away the dishes as Sansa finished putting the rest of her ingredients into the crock pot. She set it to slowly cook while they were away. A few minutes later, they were in the SUV Jon had procured from Rhaegar’s extensive fleet of cars since it would accommodate Bran’s wheelchair and allow everyone to ride in comfort. Jon was driving with Sansa in the front with him after Tormund had given Jon a broad wink and clambered into the back to continue his animated conversation with Bran and Arya. At this point they were talking about twenty different ways Tormund knew how to disarm a knife wielding attacker.

“Breaking the cunt’s nose is always very effective,” Tormund boomed out.

“Tormund!” Jon yelled out in mortification as Arya and Bran cackled and Sansa looked at Jon’s blushing face with amusement. “Sorry,” he muttered to Sansa. “It wasn’t my idea that Tormund come along, but I had hoped he would be less of a crude oaf!” Jon raised his voice on this last part and directed it over his shoulder at his friend.

“I just speak plain truth, Jon Snow,” Tormund replied good-naturedly. They had argued that morning, Jon not wanting the bigger man to accompany him, but Tormund had insisted, curious to meet the other two Starks and noting, “Seeing that pretty Sansa again won’t be a hardship. And you say she will feed us. I’m on board with that!”

His friend’s words had been good-natured, but Jon also knew Tormund wasn’t happy with his disappearance a few nights ago when he spent the night with the Starks. While Jon had called to explain his whereabouts, Tormund had felt he was being neglectful of his bodyguard duties and once more said he was not to be Jon’s charity case: if he had a job, Jon needed to let him do it. Otherwise Tormund will go elsewhere to earn his keep.

“So, what are you looking for in a car?” Jon asked Sansa, ignoring his friend making off-colored remarks to Bran and Arya.

“Well, actually something like this car would be nice, but it’s outside of our budget. Arya and her friend Gendry found a couple of possibilities at those three dealerships, but you know you can never rely on the ads. We’ll see if they actually have something there that works for us.”

“Well, Tormund and I are here just to provide transportation and intimidation if anyone becomes too much of a jerk,” Jon joked.

“Oh, trust me, Arya can be pretty intimidating,” Sansa smirked back at him.

Despite the combined intimidating presence of Tormund, Jon and Arya, they met with failure at all three of the car dealerships Arya had selected. First they would have to deal with smarmy car salesmen who spoke to Jon or Tormund first, but when both men noted it was Sansa who was buying, their demeanor ranged from lascivious to condescending. Worse, the cars were either not on the lot, “You just missed it! A lady bought it yesterday. But here’s a great car that’s not too much more expensive.” Or the car wasn’t worth the effort. Because of their limited budget, they had to buy a used car and Arya would immediately pop the hood and pull out her mini-flashlight to do a thorough examination. She found major flaws in everything from cracks in the transmission to a wonky chasse to electronics that shouldn’t be in a coffee maker let alone in a car.

With only a hasty lunch in their bellies, the temperature quickly dropping and the light fading, the Starks were ready to call it a day and Arya and Sansa began discussing contingency plans on how they would get through the week without a second car.  
“What about that lot?” Jon asked as he pointed to a car dealership to their left. “’Mance Rayder’s Used Cars’. Looks promising.”

Sansa sighed loudly. She was tired and the lunch wasn’t the greatest. She had been leered at and spent the day with men who thought Jon or Tormund must speak for her or that she was too stupid to negotiate for her own car deal. The last thing she wanted to do was to deal with another salesman.

“Come on, Sansa, it wouldn’t hurt to take a look at what they have. A sweep through the lot and if you don’t see anything promising, we’ll go home.” Jon looked pleading at her and neither of them noticed he said “we’ll go home.”  
“Oh, alright,” Sansa sighed. “Fifteen minutes wouldn’t hurt.”

Jon did a neat U-turn at a light and then pulled into the lot of Mance Rayder’s Used Cars. It was getting late and colder so there was no one about. They leisurely walked up and down the aisles until Bran suddenly called out to his sisters.  
“Arya! Sansa! Take a look at this one!”

They hurried over to Bran’s side and before them stood an SUV, the same make as the car Jon was driving, but a few years older. It was a dark blue and on the outside appeared to be in very good condition.

“Ahhh, I see you’ve found something you like.”

A deep, gravelly voice behind them had the group turning around. A tall man who’s faced looked as though it was hewed from granite stood behind them. He had a warm, down coat zipped up over his brown suit and a red scarf tied around his neck. “Mance Rayder and it seems you’re interested in this beauty.”

“Maybe,” Arya replied, “But we’ll see if the inside is as pretty as the outside.” She pulled out her flashlight and softly tapped it against the palm of her other hand.

Mance stared at her a moment before bursting out in laughter. “Aye, you seem to know what you want, young lady. Let me get the keys and you can go over it from tip to tail with a fine tooth comb.”

After a test drive and a close inspection by Arya, the Starks, Jon and Tormund were gathered around Mance’s desk inside his small office. Sansa and Arya sat across from Mance and Bran was on Arya’s other side in his wheelchair. Both Jon and Tormund leaned against the wall by the doorway, offering moral support as Sansa and Mance haggled over the price with Arya occasionally chiming in with a scoffing comment such as, “Did you see the paint peeling on the right hand side? And you still want that much money?”  
Finally, after 45 minutes of back and forth, they settled on a price that came in at the very highest end of Sansa’s budget, but was still doable, especially in light of the commissions she was making from her part-time job. However, it still seemed low to Sansa and she was trying to figure out if there was something wrong with the car. According to Arya, there wasn’t. In fact, the car was in too good of a condition with very little mileage on it considering the age. Sansa wasn’t deluding herself that she was that good of a negotiator so she asked Mance point blank why he was willing to let the car go at such a low price.

“It’s because it hasn’t moved in months,” Mance told her. “I can’t keep inventory on my lot for too long. My business depends on me moving things quickly. If I have to cut a price and get a lower profit on it, it’s actually more beneficial to me in the end to free up the space.” It seemed like a reasonable explanation, but there was still a small niggle of doubt in Sansa’s mind. 

Mance had stepped out a moment to work up the necessary paperwork and check Sansa’s credit rating. When he came back, he was solemn.

“I’m sorry, Miss Stark, but after checking on your credit rating, I can’t offer you the interest rate we agreed upon. It’ll need to be double that.”

“What?!” Sansa exclaimed. At that rate, she wouldn’t be able to make the monthly payments. “What’s wrong with my credit rating? I pay my bills on time.”

“It’s the lack of assets too,” Mance reply. He shook his head soberly. “I’m sorry, it’s just too much of a risk for me to sell to you.”

Sansa sat back in her seat, exhausted and utterly defeated. It had been a long day and the negotiating with Mance had been drawn out and she was so tired but no closer to solving her problem. She let out a weary sigh. “Come on, guys, let’s go home.”

“Unless,” Mance began hesitantly. He glanced at Jon and Tormund. “Someone can co-sign the loan with you.” 

Sansa stilled. “What?”

“If you had someone co-sign, someone with an acceptable credit background, we can go back to the original interest rate. You’d still be primarily responsible for the loan, but if you default, your co-signer will be on the hook.”

Sansa bit her lip. “I don’t know of anyone-“

“I’ll do it,” Jon said coming forward. “What information do you need to run a credit check?”

“No, Jon, you don’t have-“ Sansa began.

“Excellent!” Mance beamed. “I know who you are Captain Snow and have no worries about your credit worthiness. I just need you sign here and Miss Stark here.” He pointed to the appropriate spaces on the form before Sansa.

Jon stepped forward and scrawled his signature while Sansa hesitated. “Sansa? It’s not a handout. I’m just helping you guarantee your loan. Think of it as added incentive to pay it off on time or even sooner.”

Sansa continued to worry her bottom lip. She looked over at Arya and Bran. Her sister gave her a small nod and Sansa finally picked up the pen and signed her name.

Fifteen minutes later, the Starks were in their new car, heading home. Jon told them he and Tormund would follow but as soon as the Starks pulled out of the parking lot, Jon was turning on Mance.

“What the hell was that?!” Jon roared at the car salesman. 

“Improvising!” Mance replied cheerily. “Your girlfriend was becoming suspicious of the low price that you negotiated with me yesterday. That one is too sharp to fool too long. She would have worried on it.”

“Oh, and tying me to her car loan now isn’t suspicious?” Jon shot back.

“Not if I was the one who brought it up. You don’t exactly have the best poker face, my boy. Anyone could see that you were surprised when I suggested you co-sign. No, any doubts Miss Stark had are now laid to rest.”

Jon continued to grumble as he drove away with Tormund who regarded him silently.

“What?” Jon snapped.

“So you arranged all that with the car salesman?”

Jon sighed. “Yes. Yesterday, I worked out a deal with Mance to sell any car that Sansa may want at a lower price.”

“Ahh, all done behind the Stark girl’s back. Yes, that type of thing always works out well,” Tormund said in a sarcastic voice.

Jon scowled at him. “I wasn’t going to let Sansa buy something inappropriate and unsafe simply because she couldn’t afford anything better. She won’t accept help from me, so I had to resort to other ways.”

“And you see nothing wrong with deceiving her?”

“I’m doing it for her sake. And Bran and Arya’s!”

“But that’s not for you to decide what is good for them. “

“Sansa’s damn pride is blinding her. I won’t let her needlessly sacrifice for something I can do so easily for her.”

“So you take her choices from her?”

“I didn’t take anything form her! She got to pick what car she wanted!”

Tormund stared at him a moment and then simply shook his head. “Remind me not to be around if that one ever finds out you went behind her back. Oh, don’t worry, she won’t hear it from me, but eventually, secrets come out and it’s never pretty when they do.”

Jon reaches the Stark house only a few minutes after the others. Arya is right by the front door to fling it open before Jon can knock.

“Sansa says supper will be ready in a half hour. She’s baking the cornbread now,” Bran says as he wheels himself out of the kitchen. “And our other guests haven’t arrived.”

“Other guests?” Jon asked. The doorbell rings and Arya answer it. Jon can hear her greeting someone and the sound of two masculine voices. He turns to face the new arrivals.

One is a tall, dark haired young man, broad of shoulders who Arya introduces as her friend, Gendry. 

The other man is taller than everyone else in the room and one side of his face is scarred by old burns. He regards Jon and Tormund with suspicious and hostile eyes.

“Well, if it isn’t pretty boy and his lap dog,” Sandor says by way of greeting.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

Maybe inviting Jon and Tormund to dinner wasn’t a good idea, Sansa thought as the dishes were passed around and Tormund, Jon and Sandor exchanged glares. Sansa sat at the head of their expanded kitchen table and Arya at the foot. Sandor and Gendry flanked either side of her while she had Jon and Tormund at her end. Bran sat between Jon and Sandor and that buffer was necessary. 

When Gendry and Sandor had arrived, the posturing began almost immediately. Sandor was gruff, ill-mannered, and foul-tempered most of the time, but he had been good to Arya and the rest of the Starks. Sansa wasn’t a fool, however. In the beginning, after they had first met, she couldn’t misinterpret the hungry gazes he sent her way and even if she didn’t understand what they meant, Sandor had bluntly told her he wanted her.

She didn’t return the feelings and as gently as possible, turned him down. He had made himself scarce for a few months, though Arya continued to work at his garage, but after a while, he had come around, mainly because he had heard of Gendry’s run in with Baelish. While Sandor knew he could never have Sansa, he wasn’t going to stand by while someone tried to hurt her, so they had settled into a friendship of sorts which included the occasional Sunday dinner. Usually, these dinners were pleasant affairs, as they all prepared themselves for the week ahead with a good meal and conversation. While the meal was still good, only Bran, Arya and Gendry were currently enjoying it as the other men glared at each other, mindlessly shoving food into their mouths without tasting it and Sansa racking her brains for a way to ease the tension.

“I saw the new car in the driveway,” Gendry said. “She’s a beaut. How much did it cost you?”

When Sansa quoted a price, Sandor frowned. He asked her how many miles were on it and quizzed Arya on the car’s condition.

“That’s too low,” Sandor rumbled out. “I know Mance and he’s a down right miser. How did you get him down to that low of a price?”

“I just negotiated him down,” Sansa replied as she shot a contemplative look at Jon who avoided her eye.

Sandor continued to frown. “Best let me look the car over after dinner, Little Bird, just in case.”

“I’ve already done that!” Arya cried out in annoyance.

“A second set of eyes doesn’t hurt,” Gendry replied soothingly. 

Arya grumbled under her breath but didn’t offer any more protests. “Jon,” Sansa began in a bright voice. “Are you looking forward to your first day at headquarters?”

Jon swallowed a sigh. “It’ll be a change from what I’ve been doing. So far, I’ve just been visiting the various other offices. Now, I’ll be based here.”

“What are you doing exactly?” Bran asked.

“First, I’m basically continuing my training.” Jon blushed slightly. “Understanding the different sectors better and familiarizing myself with how they operate. I’m still trying to figure out what part of TI I’d like to settle into.”

“What’s looking good to you?” Arya asked.

Jon hesitated. He hadn’t said anything to anyone yet, definitely not to Rhaegar or Dany, but the one part of TI Jon had found himself interested in wasn’t technically part of TI. Like many major corporations, TI had founded a foundation that funded various projects by non-profits. All of the non-profits did good and valuable work, and TI looked good in the process. It wasn’t flashy or profitable or particularly exciting, but Jon liked the thought of helping others. However, he knew both his father and aunt wanted him more involved in the for-profit side of TI. Hesitantly, he mentioned his interest in the foundation.

The interested looks of his audience eased some of his hesitation. He saw Tormund look closely at him, but his friend didn’t seem surprised that this was the area Jon had been drawn to the most.

“The Targaryen Foundation actually supports this program I volunteer at,” Bran said. “It’s the Train Seniors to Use Computers program at the Community Center.”

“And they’re a big supporter of the Animal Shelter that we’ve been raising money for this holiday season,” Sansa added. Her eyes softened as she looked at Jon. “I think it’s wonderful you want to work in that area. You can do so much good.”

Jon felt a ball of warmth spread in his chest as he looked at Sansa with her soft, gentle eyes and heard her sweet words. He hadn’t realized how nervous and uncertain he had been about being drawn to the Foundation work instead of the more glamorous, high finance parts of his father’s company. It wasn’t what Dany and Rhaegar had been pushing him towards all these months. Jon had been afraid if he said he wanted to work in the Foundation, he would be thought a fool for wasting such a golden opportunity to do more. But here, with the Starks, he had opened up a part of him, and instead of doubts or questions about his choice, he had been met with acceptance and support.

The Starks felt more like family to him than the Targaryens.

“It’s not settled yet,” Jon mumbled. “Rhaegar still wants me to do a few more months of training before I make a final decision.”

“Well, that sounds wise. You might find yourself liking some other area more,” Sansa replied. “You have plenty of time to decide.” Jon found himself returning her soft smile.

“Pass the cornbread!” Sandor suddenly boomed out. “Oi! Pretty boy, pass the cornbread!”

Jon broke eye contract with Sansa and scowled as he handed the pretty blue platter heaped with golden squares of hot, sweet cornbread to Sandor. The taller man grunted at him.

“Great chili, Sansa,” Gendry interceded nervously. “Turkey?”

“Have to get rid of that bird someway,” Sansa replied. “Though Bran can eat turkey every day of the year.”

“Oh yeah,” piped up the boy. “Sansa, I think there’s enough left to make turkey pot pie and then you’ll be making turkey noodle soup, right?”

The others laughed as Arya groaned. “Gods, no more turkey.”

“Bran, I think we do need a few days break from turkey,” Sansa told her brother. “But I promise, we’ll have turkey pot pie soon.”

The rest of the meal passed amicably. Sansa had found a lot of minor disagreements can sometimes be smoothed over with good food and her blueberry cobbler with fresh whipped cream definitely helped put everyone in a better mood. Or at least put people into a food coma and make them too sleepy to argue.

As Bran did the dishes with Tormund volunteering to help and Sansa dealt with the left overs, Arya took Sandor and Gendry out to the see the new car. Jon was going to stay behind with Sansa when Arya grabbed his hand and dragged him outside with her.  
Jon stood there now, in the cold, his hands buried deep into his coat pockets as Sandor and Gendry crawled all over the new car with powerful flashlights, grunting and trying to find fault.

“I told you it was fine. I do know what I’m talking about,” Arya snapped when the two men found nothing.

“I still can’t believe Mance let this go for that price,” Sandor muttered.

“Have you ever seen Sansa haggle?” Arya replied.

“Aye,” Sandor said in a slow voice. “But a lot of time it works because of that pretty face and sweet manners. Those don’t work on Mance. The man only cares about dollar signs.” His eyes fell on Jon. “So why would he suddenly cut her such a great deal?”  
His years of military training stopped Jon from shuffling guiltily on his feet or looking anything but bored and cold. He knew if this giant could find just the tiniest thing that painted Jon in a bad light, he would go running to Sansa. Jon had seen how Sandor looked at the redhead. While Sansa told him that she’s made it clear to Sandor she wasn’t interested and the man had accepted it, Jon wondered how true that was.

“Well, maybe the holiday spirit just took him over,” Arya said in an exasperated voice. “What does it matter? We got a good deal on the car. Now, I’m freezing. Let’s go inside and maybe we can get Sansa to make us hot chocolate.” She stomped back into the house, not waiting to see if anyone else followed.

Even though he threw a quick look at Sandor, Gendry was practically on her heels, leaving Jon and Sandor alone.

The two men regarded each other warily and in a silence that was chillier than the evening air. After a few moments, Jon turned on his heel and started back into the house when Sandor’s voice stopped him.

“You can’t buy her.”

Jon stood still and whirled around, furious. “What did you say?” he growled out.

Sandor snorted in the face of the shorter man’s anger. “You heard me. I’ve seen your type before. You see that pretty face of hers. See how tough she and her family have it and you think you can buy her. Well you can’t.”

“Speaking from experience?” Jon shot back.

Sandor’s face flushed, but he only said, “I only know she can’t be bought and when rich boys can’t get what they want, they get ugly, and I won’t stand for that.”

Jon snorted. “Trust me, I’m no Baelish.”

He saw Sandor pause a moment and regard Jon thoughtfully. A nasty smile spread over Sandor’s face. “You think I’m talking about Baelish? Well, guess you’re not so close with the family as you thought.” He moved past Jon, bumping into him, before he made his way back into the house.

Jon stared after Sandor for a moment, wondering what the other man was talking about.


	12. Chapter 12

When Jon re-entered the house, he found everyone gathered around the TV watching a football game. While there was still some tension between Tormund and Sandor, their taste in football teams seemed to run the same and they mutually cheered one side as Arya rooted for the other. Jon watched the game with them for a few moments, but kept glancing around. Sansa was missing from the group and he had assumed she was in the kitchen, but she never came out to the living room to be with them.

“Where’s Sansa?” Jon asked Bran who half watched the game and half texted on his phone.

“In her work room,” Bran replied. At Jon’s confused look, he clarified. “Down the small hall and to the right. There was a sun porch that we converted into Sansa’s workroom.”

Jon nodded and headed in the direction Bran had laid out. A few moments later he found himself hovering in the doorway as he watched Sansa on her knees fixing the hem of a dress. His eyes went to her pert, rounded bottom before he caught himself and he cleared his throat to get her attention. Sansa looked over her shoulder, pins in her mouth.

“Mmmf,” she began before she remembered the pins and took them out. “Jon! Did you need something?”

“No, just wondering where you were since everyone else is watching the game,” Jon replied as he moved into the room. He looked around and noticed a sewing machine in one corner and a table in another. One short side of the room was just a large shelving unit that had various fabrics and other items neatly stacked in each cubby. There was a small rattan loveseat and a chair that matched it. A worn oriental carpet covered most of the floor and a small rolling rack with a few other pieces of clothing on hangers was pushed off to one side. Lamps illuminated the room but Jon thought with the one wall of windows that curved upwards to form a partial roof of glass that this room would be quite bright in the daytime.

“Football is not one of my favorites,” Sansa replied, making a small face that had Jon smiling slightly. He remembered when he, Robb and the younger children would play tag football on the Winterfell lawns, Sansa would always sit primly on the sidelines either with a book or some crafty thing like sewing or knitting. At the time he thought she was too prissy and ladylike to not join in the fun, but looking back, he only felt a fondness for that Sansa. As he watched her finish pinning the hem of the dress, he felt that fondness bloom into something warm in his chest. 

“New dress?” Jon asked nodding at the gown. While lovely, he didn’t think it really suited Sansa. 

“No, this is something I made for a client,” Sansa replied. 

“Client?”

“Yes, I do some dressmaking on the side. I’ve got a couple of regulars and they always want something around the holidays for the parties.” 

Sansa’s back was to Jon as she continued to work on the dress so she didn’t see how his face fell. He admired all that Sansa had done and was doing in supporting her family, but he could not help but feel anger that she was working so hard. The café and the seasonal job were bad enough, but she was also doing dressmaking on the side? He could see the dark circle under her eyes and the weary look that she didn’t quite manage to hide during dinner. She was killing herself working so hard and it would be so simple to just offer her money or even a better paying job, but Jon knew she would not take it. For some reason, she was determined to do everything on her own and he felt that same resistance from Arya as well.

_You can’t buy her._

Sandor’s earlier words came back to him and he indicated he wasn’t talking about Baelish. Jon looked at the back of Sansa’s head as she continued to work. She was pretty, beautiful. How many men have tried to prey on her knowing she was vulnerable because she was so young and needed money? Have any succeeded? Jon didn’t like to think about Sansa at the mercy of some man who offered her help if she offered-

Jon quashed that line of thinking. It would do no good. He would only get angry and Sansa would wonder why and he couldn’t say he hated the thought she might have been propositioned or worse, forced into a situation where she had to trade herself to help her family survive.

“I’m glad to see you kept up with your designing,” Jon said instead, trying to banish those dark thoughts of what else Sansa might have gone through the last few years.

Sansa sat back on her heels and looked up at the dress. “It does feel nice to still have my hand in it.” Her voice was wistful.

“It’s not too late,” Jon replied. “You can always go back to school, change…careers.” 

Sansa shrugged and continued to work. “Maybe. But right now, I have to be practical.”

Jon felt sadness descend on him as he continued to watch Sansa work. It wasn’t fair that she had to shoulder such responsibilities at such a young age. It wasn’t fair to any of the Stark children. 

Jon continued watching Sansa work. The silence didn’t feel awkward or strained, in fact, it was rather comforting. While the room was clearly a work space for Sansa, it also had a cozy and calm quality to it. Jon could imagine himself reading in the afternoons in such a space as Sansa quietly continued working. It was a pretty and enticing picture.

“How’s living with Rhaegar?” Sansa suddenly asked, breaking the tranquility that had surrounded him.

Jon sighed. “I’m still not completely comfortable around him and Dany. My aunt,” Jon clarified when Sansa raised an eyebrow and realized she may not be familiar with the family nickname. 

“It’ll just take time. There’s no timetable for these things, Jon,” Sansa continued. She frowned at her work and then made an adjustment. “Maybe you should consider getting your own place.”

Jon was startled. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you live and work with them. That must get overwhelming at times. Maybe having your own space will make things easier.”

Jon paused. Rhaegar had swooped in the moment he was released from the hospital and he had been living with his father and aunt ever since. Jon simply hadn’t thought about finding his own place. Living with them also was a source of friction with Ygritte.

“You might be right,” Jon replied slowly. “And it might help things with Ygritte. She doesn’t get along with Rhaegar and Dany.”

“Ygritte?”

Jon went on to explain about his girlfriend, realizing that aside from saying he had a girlfriend, he hadn’t said much about her to Sansa or any of the Starks. He felt a small stab of shame for having so easily forgotten about her when he was with the Starks.

Sansa nodded as Jon talked about his girlfriend, not letting him know she had already met the woman. There was no point in talking about that, but she couldn’t help feel a small flicker of disappointment. They were obviously serious if Jon moved her in with his family and was now considering moving out into a new place in order to make her feel more comfortable.

“It must be hard for her, being so far away from home and what she’s used to,” Sansa replied when Jon had explained his history with Ygritte and the friction between her and his newfound family.

“Sometimes I don’t think she’s even trying.” Jon was surprised at how bitter his words were.

Sansa looked at him thoughtfully. “Have you talked to her about it?”

Jon sighed. “You mean when she’s not out partying?”

“Not quite your thing, going clubbing and dancing, eh?”

“Was it ever my thing?”

Sansa chuckled. “No. I don’t seem to recall you being a fan of that. Still from what you’ve told me, it sounds like you and Ygritte simply haven’t had much time for yourselves. Maybe all you two need is just some time away from everything and everyone?”

Jon paused as he pondered her words. It was true. He had been in the hospital and went from there to Rhaegar’s and there hadn’t been time for him and Ygritte to really connect after discovering he was not who he had led her to believe. A small part of Jon began to squirm uncomfortably, wondering if the man Ygritte loved and cared for was the persona he crafted for his undercover work and not him. Had the two of them made this awful mistake based upon a cover?

“Maybe you’re right,” Jon said slowly. “Ygritte and I really haven’t had a chance to get to know each other when I’m not, well, pretending to be someone else.”

“Sansa?”

They both looked up and saw Arya standing in the doorway. “Gendry and Sandor are leaving now.”

“Oh, I have some leftovers in the fridge for them. I’ll go get them,” Sansa stood up and left the room, Jon on her heels. Jon watched as she handed Sandor a bag filled with Tupperware containers and leftovers from the meal. She gave a similar bag to Gendry.

“The car looks good, Little Bird,” Sandor assured Sansa, earning a snort from Arya.

“Thank you for providing a different set of eyes, both you and Gendry,” Sansa replies. “I also put some cookies in there so remember to take those out and not shove the whole bag into the refrigerator.”

The two men bid good night to the Starks, Sandor looking at the clock and then giving Jon a pointed look who firmly planted his feet and decided he was not going to leave at least for another half hour. He changed his mind a few minutes later when he saw how weary Sansa look and Tormund frowning at Jon too.

“I guess we should get going also,” Jon said. “I know you have an early day tomorrow and it’ll be my first day at TI.” 

“It’ll be fine,” Sansa replied. He saw her hesitate a moment and then hand both himself and Tormund two small packages. “I normally give Sandor and Gendry some left overs because they live alone and neither can cook. I didn’t think you two would be interested, but I did pack up some cookies for you both. You don’t have to ta-“ Tormund snatched his package out of Sansa’s hand quickly and exclaimed.

“Your cookies? Of course we want them!” He held the package up to his nose and inhaled deeply. “Chocolate chip?”

Sansa looked at the big man in amusement. “Close. Double chunk, chocolate chip with M&Ms.”

“Marry me,” Tormund groaned as he clutched the package close to his heart. “Just let me toss you over my shoulder and I’ll steal you away from this life!”

Sansa laughed but Jon scowled at his friend. “Can’t you just say thank you like a normal person?”

“Not when cookies are involved,” Tormund replied. “Milady, your humble servant thanks you for the lovely meal and the cookies.” He held up the package. “And if this wanker doesn’t eat his, I definitely will. My offer of marriage stands because not every woman cooks as divinely as you.”

“Tormund, just go wait in the car!” Jon snapped as Sansa giggled over his friend’s antics. As soon as Tormund left with a hollered goodbye to Bran and Arya and a wink to Sansa, Jon turned back to Sansa. “Thank you for the cookies and sorry for Tormund.”

“It’s fine. He’s got his own certain charm.”

“Well, he’s right about one thing though, your cookies are terrific. Thank you, Sansa.” He paused simply looking into Sansa’s eyes for a moment and saw her returning his gaze.

“Night, Jon!” Bran suddenly called out, breaking the mood.

“Bran,” Jon nodded to him. “We’re doing the movies on Wednesday, right? Us and Arya.” He looked inquiringly at Sansa who shook her head. ‘Work’ she mouthed and Jon nodded understandingly. “We’ll go get pizza that night.”

“Thank the Gods no turkey!” Arya replied. “’Night, Jon!”

Jon chuckled and turned back to Sansa. “Good night, Sansa.”

“Good night, Jon. Thank you for all your help today.” She leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

Jon felt his face heat and his mouth form into a smile as he nodded at Sansa and nearly stumbled out of her door. When he got into his car he saw Tormund looking pointedly at him and at the spot on his cheek where Sansa had kissed him.

“Not a word, Tormund. Not a word,” he warned his friend.


	13. Chapter 13

“Ms. Targaryen directed that your deliveries be put in the blue guest room.”

It took a moment for Jon to realize that the servant was talking about his purchases from yesterday. He had just walked into the house after Tormund had dropped him off at the front door, the bigger man saying he would take the car back to the garage and wishing his friend good night. Jon had been ready to just drop into bed, feeling a little tired, but satisfied with himself, believing, despite Mance’s last minute improvising, that none of the Starks were any wiser to the fact that he had arranged for them to “find” that particular car for that very good price. Though, after watching Sansa and Arya tag-team haggle Mance, Jon wondered if his help was really even needed at all.

Jon nodded in acknowledgement of the servant’s information and started up the stairs to begin sorting out the various packages. As he passed Ygritte’s room, not realizing that he no longer thought of that room as “theirs”, the door flew open. Jon looked up in surprise. When he left that morning she had not been around and he was not certain she would be here at the house this evening. 

She was dressed in jeans and sweater, not one of her expensive and somewhat revealing dresses she had taken to wearing for a night out. Her feet were bare and her hair loose around her shoulders. For a moment, Jon felt something clench in his chest as he remembered another time she had been dressed this way, in jeans and a simple sweater. It was a complicated time as he pretended to be something he was not, but also a simpler time when their feelings seemed to be purer and more understandable. In that moment, Jon felt as though they were back in The Gift and it was just the two of them in Ygritte’s cozy, rundown apartment.

“You didn’t meet me for lunch,” she said, not in an accusatory tone, but in a voice laced with hurt and a bit of resignation.

Jon felt a stab of guilt. He had said they would lunch together, but he completely forgot, so wrapped up in his plans to solve Sansa’s car issue, and feeling quite pleased with himself with what he thought was a rather clever idea. If he was being honest with himself, he hadn’t thought of Ygritte at all today.

“I’m sorry, Ygritte,” Jon sighed. “You have every right to be angry with me. I just forgot and it was thoughtless of me to do so. It’s just the Starks needed-“

“Jon! I need you!” Ygritte cried out. She ran her hands through her hair in frustration. “Look. I get it. You’re happy to be reunited with them and you want to help them out. That’s great. I don’t expect you to do anything less. That’s just the type of guy you are, but Jon, I need you sometimes too!”

“Ygritte, they’re just kids! They need someone older to-“

“Jon! Why did you bring me here if you were just going to ignore me?”

That stopped him short. He had been ignoring her, but not intentionally. He had been dealing with his own jumble of confused emotions as he dealt with a new family and realization that he was a Targaryen. It was not Ygritte’s fault. Jon’s way of dealing with such life changing news was to shut himself off and ignore everyone else around him so he could focus on the issue in front of him. It was selfish and he could see how Ygritte could be feeling lost and alone because she was. She knew noone here and the few who did know her, Tormund and Edd, didn’t particularly care for her nor she them.

He reached out to gently put his hands on her shoulders. “You’re right and I’m sorry. Let’s-, let’s just wipe the slate clean and start over. How would you like to meet the Starks? I made plans to go to the movies with Bran and Arya on Wednesday. Come with us.”

He saw a flash of irritation on Ygritte’s face but it was gone in a moment and then she smiled at him. “And we’ll have dinner tomorrow and Tuesday night together?”

Jon nodded. “Yeah. It’ll be good to talk to someone not associated with TI. We’ll even go out so we’re not having dinner here.”

Ygritte’s smile widened and she hugged Jon who returned the hug warmly. “Stay with me tonight,” she said softly in his ear. “Not that we have to do anything. I just like to feel you next to me and holding me.”  
Jon nodded and let her go. He gave her a small smile and walked into her room, not seeing how Ygritte’s face fell slightly. He didn’t find her request to simply sleep together odd, but she was specific about that and making sure there was no reason for her to disrobe completely in front of Jon. At least not for a few more days. The evidence of her rough sex with Ramsey still covered her body.

*/*/*/*/*

Mrs. Mundy, Targaryen Industries’ Executive Office Manager frowned down at the tray of delectable and elegant pastries that Sansa Stark had just set out. There was nothing wrong with them and for the past two years, Highgarden Café had been supplying TI with the Monday morning catering for the weekly executive staff meeting. This Monday was no different and despite the fact that this was Rhaegar’s son, Jon’s, a celebrated military hero in his own right, first day, Mrs. Mundy, per orders from Rhaegar himself, had not asked the Highgarden Café to alter the order in any way.

Yet, it was different. More than different, there were _bear claws_ in among the pastries. Not just any bear claws, but misshaped ones. If Mrs. Mundy were asked, she would say they look more like, well, giant paws.

Mrs. Mundy liked her routine and she liked everything carried out to the letter of her instructions. Not once had those girls at Highgarden ever made a mistake in the TI order, yet here it was staring her boldly in the face. _Three bear claws!_ No one here ate bear claws! It was why Mrs. Mundy expressly asked them to be kept off their order. And they didn’t even look right. 

Sansa finished setting up the last coffee urn. Gilly or Margery would come by later to pick up the Café equipment, but Sansa always did the delivery as she made everything fresh that morning. She turned to smile at Mrs. Mundy but it started to fade when she saw the older woman frowning at her.

“My dear,” Mrs. Mundy began with a slight sniff of disapproval. “I haven’t had any reason to complain since your little store has been catering these meetings, but I’ve explicitly told you not to bring bear claws, yet I see them here,” she gestured towards the platter on the table, “and I have to say, they are in the most curious shape! Yet, even in their malformed state, I can tell they are _bear claws_!”

Sansa flushed. “Well, I understood there would be some new people at this meeting and I thought someone might-“

“But I have been explicit in my directions,” Mrs. Mundy continued, fluffing herself up like an agitated hen. “I always give you precise orders and I expect them to be carried out. You cannot go against what a customer wants.”

“No, Mrs. Mundy, but perhaps-“

“This is unacceptable,” the older woman continued, working herself in a righteous state. She never wanted to go with Highgarden Café, but someone higher up insisted that they be seen as helping to support the neighborhood businesses and they did supply delicious pastries and nothing had gone wrong until now. Mrs. Mundy had always thought such work should go to one of the larger catering firms and not a small operation run by two girls.

“I don’t expect to be paid for those additional pastries. The entire order is there, I just added three-“

“Unacceptable work, Miss Stark. I’m afraid we’ll have to reconsider our arrangement.”

Sansa looked at her in shock. “Just because of three bear claws? Mrs. Mundy, I’m sorry I-“

“I don’t think there’s more to discuss. I’ll have to re-evaluate this arrangement,” Mrs. Mundy continued coolly.

“But-,” Sansa began.

“Sansa?”

Both women turned their heads and saw Jon Snow standing there, with Rhaegar and Sam Tarly behind him. 

“Sansa,” Jon said coming forward. “What are you doing here?”

Still in some shock that Mrs. Mundy could pull the TI business from the Café, Sansa could only smile weakly at him. “Good morning, Jon.”

All eyes were on the couple as they wondered how Jon knew the pretty redhead, Mrs. Mundy’s being especially sharp.

Jon frowned, taking in Sansa’s paler than normal face and the slightly bewildered look in her eyes. “Sansa? What’s wrong?”

“The Café, it does the catering for the Monday staff meetings,” Sansa replied. She glanced at Mrs. Mundy. “Or it used to.”

Jon’s frown deepened. “What do you mean ‘used to’?”

“The order is wrong,” Mrs. Mundy intervened. “We cannot have mistakes made.”

Jon glanced at the pastries. “What’s wrong with the order?” His eyes suddenly lit up and he leaned more closely to examine the platter. “Are those-, are those? _Wolf paws_?!”

Mrs. Mundy gave him a startled look at also turned to glance at the platter as Sansa smiled faintly. 

“They are. I used my mother’s recipe. I remembered how much you loved them and thought you’d like them your first day,” Sansa replied.

Jon gazed at Sansa in wonder and he could feel his throat tightened as he remembered lazy Sunday mornings as Catelyn Stark baked fresh pastries for her family and the lonely foster child they had taken in. He had loved her “wolf paws”, bear claws that she had shaped into a wolf’s paw to symbolize the direwolf on the family’s crest. Jon had loved how they tasted and it made him feel more like a part of the Stark family. Every time he had some big test or some important sporting event or really anything he felt nervous undertaking, Catelyn would bake him wolf paws as a special treat for breakfast. To Jon, wolf paws were just another way to show him he was loved.

“Thank you, Sansa,” he said softly as he gazed at the lovely young woman before him.

“You’re welcome,” she replied with a gentle smile. Her eyes shifted over to Mrs. Mundy. “I’m sorry you’re upset about the order, Mrs. Mundy. I just wanted to make sure Captain Snow had something special on his first day.”

Jon whirled on the older woman and with a touch of his “Captain” voice, he said crisply, “I take it then there’ll be no more talk about canceling business with the Café as Ms. Stark was merely trying to please me?”

Mrs. Mundy stiffened and her jaw became tight. “Of course not,” she replied.

“Well, well, well, Jon, are you not going to introduce us?” Rhaegar said as he came forward curiously. His son was a military man and used to commanding, but since he had known him, Jon was also unfailing polite and courteous, especially to women. Yet, Rhaegar had just seen a flash of defensiveness on behalf of this pretty young woman that Jon had never displayed for anyone, not even Ygritte, before. And Jon had called her “Ms. Stark.” She had to be one of the Stark children, yet from how Jon had always referred to them, calling them ‘children’ or ‘kids’, Rhaegar, and more interestingly he was sure Daenerys and Ygritte too, believed they were barely if not quite adults. Yet, here was a beautiful, young woman at least over twenty.

Jon tore his eyes from Sansa and looked at his father. He nodded in what seemed to be a reluctant way and said, “Sansa Stark, Rhaegar Targaryen and Samwell Tarly.”

“Charmed and delighted,” Rhaegar said as he took Sansa’s hand and kissed the back of it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jon stiffen and had to suppress a grin. Rhaegar didn’t give Sansa her hand back, but clasped it between both of his. “Jon has talked so much about the Starks that I’ve longed to meet you and your siblings. Imagine my delight when he told me that you had reconnected.” He looked soulfully at Sansa. “But he never said how incredibly lovely you are, my dear Miss Stark.”

Sansa blushed and tried to pull her hand back. Rhaegar made a show of reluctantly letting her go and noted with delight Jon’s lips thin and his eyes narrow. _A very interesting reaction,_ Rhaegar thought. _The boy is very protective._

“I echo what my son said,” Rhaegar continued as he looked at Mrs. Mundy. “The tray of pastries look absolutely fabulous and we’ve only the best and most delicious things from the Highgarden Café. In fact, I do need some holiday cookies baked for me. Sugar cookies in various holiday flavors and shapes and colors. Whatever you see best. Separated out to two dozen in a box. Make sure the boxes are festive yet elegant. We give these boxes of cookies to various business associates. I’ll need about 500 boxes by the second week of December. Can you do that?”

Sansa’s jaw dropped and she blinked at Rhaegar for a few seconds before she said. “I can work up a quote for you, Mr. Targaryen-“

Rhaegar waved his hand dismissively. “I’m sure you’ll quote a fair price. Just give Mrs. Mundy a figure and we’ll draw up a contract. Mrs. Mundy, whatever Miss Stark thinks is a fair price, put that into the agreement.”

Sansa continued to look dazed as Rhaegar smiled winningly at her. He could see Jon glowering at them. “Just bring by a sample plate at the end of the week and I’ll let you know what works and what doesn’t.”

“Thank you, Mr. Targ-“

“Rhaegar.” He positively beamed at her and his eyes danced merrily.

Jon grew more irritated.

“Rhaegar,” Sansa replied with a small smile.

Mrs. Mundy let out a loud sniff. “Miss Stark, if you will come with me to my office, I’ll give you your check for today and we can discuss details about the new contract.”

“Thank you, again, Mr.-,” Sansa hastily stopped herself and said instead, “Rhaegar. I’ll be sure to have a sample platter here on Friday morning.” She turned to smile at Sam. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk, Sam.” She turned to Jon. “Sam comes into the Café for lunch quite often.”

Sam blushed at Sansa’s words and for one moment, Jon had the uncomfortable thought that Sam might be visiting the Café for more than the food. He looked sharply at his friend and then sidled his eyes over towards Sansa. Jon would have to try to figure out if his suspicions had any merit. However, Sansa was turning to him now.

“Jon, I hope you like the wolf paws,” she said. “I remember how mother would bake them for you the mornings before you had a big test or something important for that day. I just wanted to give you a little of something like that again.”

Jon couldn’t help it, and everyone in the room could see how his face relaxed and softened as he gazed at Sansa. “Thank you. I’ll call you later,” he said in a soft rumble.

Sansa smiled at him and turned to leave, followed by Mrs. Mundy. Jon gazed after Sansa until she was long out of sight. It was only Rhaegar clearing his throat that brought him back to the conference room.  
“So, that is one of the Stark ‘children’,” his father drawled out. “Not very small is she?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jon replied stiffly. He glanced sharply at his father. Rhaegar had a well-earned reputation as a womanizer. Now single, he was often seen in the company of a multitude of beautiful women, some young enough to be his daughter. Some as young as Sansa. “She’s not someone you trifle with, Rhaegar,” Jon ground out. “I won’t stand for something like that.”

“My dear boy,” Rhaegar replied easily. “I never trifle with women. I am most upfront and honest with them about the relationship.”

Jon bristled and Sam shifted nervously on his feet. “I’m serious, Rhaegar. Sansa has been through a lot in the last few years. The last thing she needs is some older, rich man stalking her. I swear, if you try to make her one of your play things, I’ll-“

“Jon, relax,” Rhaegar said in exasperation. “I will leave the beautiful Miss Sansa Stark be.” He grinned suddenly. “Though, I cannot wait to see your aunt and Ygritte’s reaction when they meet that ‘child.’”

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your patience and your continued interest in this story. I apologize for the delay in updating this. A few months ago, my boss passed away unexpectedly. I've been acting as the Interim Executive Director since that happened as well as doing my own job so, as someone said to me recently, I've been burning the candle at both ends the past few months. I've literally not had a moment to stop and breath with not only the added workload but also just traveling (I was only home about 5 days in October). Fortunately, things have eased a bit, so I was able to get another chapter of this little story out. I hope you continue to read and enjoy it. Thanks for your understanding.


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